My Fallen Angel
by Morganna Venus Persephone
Summary: A telling of Ryan's life before he commits himself to Borehamwood Asylum, the woman he loved and the events that led to his 'life choices'... Original huh?  No seriously, full of tragedy, angst and rated M because it's Ryan and contains obvious rape.
1. I Have an Angel

**Chapter 1**

1897

She had seen him a few times, often he would be playing in the street with a few other unfortunate children but this time he was alone, throwing stones against a wall in the small alley.

_Poor thing_, she thought as she walked by with her school books. She wondered why she never saw him in school; perhaps his mother could not afford his education.

She stopped now to watch him play his game. Daddy had warned her not to play with the feral children, especially 'hooker's spawn' as he called them although she had no idea what that meant; to her the young boy was just another child like herself.

She looked back down the street in the direction of her house. Daddy would wonder where she was if she wasn't home soon and she bit her lip in worry. The young boy had not noticed her yet, too interested in his game, trying to throw the stones he'd found into a circle he'd drawn in the dirt. _Like marbles_, she thought excitedly and reached for her satchel, she pulled out a silken bag which was full of the glass balls Daddy had given her as a birthday present last year.

Daddy wouldn't mind if she was a little late, surely? So she walked towards the boy with his dirty shirt and shoulder length black hair.

"Hello?" she said.

He jumped, he hadn't realised anyone was there, "What do you want?"

She was taken aback by his defensive response it was almost as if he expected her to hit him or something, "Nothing," she replied honestly, "My name's Charlotte, I've seen you a few times, what's your name, boy?" she asked. It was not meant indignantly, it was just how the nine year old girl had heard her father talk to young street urchins.

He looked at her, noticing her blue school uniform for the first time. He remembered her, he'd seen her a few times walking to and from school with her dark brown hair tied in a neat French-plait. She looked posh; his mother had told him to keep away from their kind for they would 'look down their noses at you', what that actually meant though he wasn't sure.

"My name's Ryan," he did not let his guard down and just looked at her with piercing grey, blue eyes.

Charlotte looked at the ground where he'd been playing and then asked, "Wouldn't you rather play with marbles instead of stones?"

It seemed like a reasonable question to her, just as his response seemed reasonable to him, "I don't have any marbles, my mother can't afford toys,"

This didn't seem at all right to Charlotte, she only lived a few minutes from him and suddenly it seemed that they lived two very different lives. That couldn't be fair, surely?

Charlotte tipped her silk bag up and a small selection of the colourful glass spheres fell into her palm and she extended them to the raggedy boy, "Would you like to play marbles with me?" she asked politely.

Ryan looked at her hand which held the pretty glass, all the colours of the rainbow and more. He looked back at her, "Really? You want me to play with you?"

"Why yes, you silly boy, I wouldn't ask you otherwise," she giggled.

Ryan cautiously extended his hand to the young girl and she placed her marbles into his palm.

They smiled at each other as children do and began playing their game.

* * *

><p>They were not sure how much time had passed but they both knew that they'd enjoyed it. Ryan had knocked five of Charlotte's marbles out of dirt ring, he was certainly very skilled at this despite his insistence that he'd never played with real marbles in his life. They laughed together and shared jokes. It was a friendly atmosphere and neither mentioned anything about the others social standing, being children they were unknowing of such things.<p>

Charlotte suddenly noticed that the night was drawing in, "Oh no!" she cried.

"What's wrong?"

"It's late! Daddy will be worried."

Ryan looked concerned, "Will he beat you for it?"

She looked at him genuinely stunned that he had asked such a question, "No! Why would Daddy beat me?"

It had never occurred to Ryan that not all parents were like his mother. _Oh shit! Mother!_ He himself now turned and looked down the dark alley, she would be awake soon, if not now and she would come looking for him.

"You should go," he said.

She nodded in agreement, although she did not know that Ryan was more concerned about her being alone in this part of town, it wasn't recommended for anyone especially young girls.

"Will I see you tomorrow, Ryan?"

He hadn't expected that, "If you want,"

"Good, we can play after school again," she smiled and gathered up her marbles and began placing them back in the silk bag. Then she stopped and looked at Ryan, who suddenly looked quite alone, his head was down, his messy hair covering his face, hands in his pockets, kicking the ground.

"Ryan?" she asked, he turned to face her, "Have these," she gave him a handful of her marbles, the prettier ones that he had admired so.

"But… I can't take these, Charlotte. They're yours,"

"Yes, and I chose to give them to you."

For a brief moment a flicker of warmth was shared between them and they smiled at one another knowing that they were friends now.

"Ryan! Ryan!" A shrill woman's voice cried from down the alley. Ryan shuddered at the voice and immediately turned in the direction it sounded from, "Where are you, you worthless little shit?"

Charlotte gasped; she had never heard such language before.

"I… I have to go now; that's my mother…" His whole demeanour changed at hearing her call him and Charlotte simply thought it best not to ask questions.

"I'll meet you here tomorrow," she promised.

Ryan was glad she said this; he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd suddenly changed her mind about seeing him again after this incident.

Charlotte quickly grabbed her satchel, waved goodbye to her new friend and hurried home and so did Ryan.

When she reached her front door her father was indeed waiting for her with a very stern look on his face.

"And where have you been miss?" he asked.

She quickly apologised for her lateness, explaining that she had been playing marbles with her new friend Ryan.

Mr Hargreaves took this in; so his little girl had befriended a young boy. Nothing wrong in that he supposed, it was time for her to discover young love as they called it anyway. This Ryan was undoubtedly a fellow student at the school he assumed, so would be of good social standing, nothing wrong in that at all.

Ryan did not get far down the alley before he met his mother; her hair was a dishevelled mess along with the filthy dress she always wore. She was holding a cigarette in her nicotine stained fingers and her eyes were glazed. She scowled at him, "Where the bloody Hell were you? And who was that little cow you were with?"

Oh God, he'd hoped that she hadn't seen them together, "N… no one…" the ten year old boy stammered, "She's j… just a friend."

"A friend?" she spat, "You don't have any friends you little liar," she clipped him round the back of his head sharply, "Get to your room and stay there you little shit. You won't be fed tonight for lying to me."

He did not have the courage to try and explain so he simply did as she'd ordered. Once in bed he covered himself in the thin sheet and tucked his legs up to his chin. He was starving, she hadn't fed him last night either saying that she'd needed it more, to keep her strength up while she was 'working'.

He reached into his pocket and took out the marbles Charlotte had given him; luckily his mother had not noticed that. He held them tightly in his clenched hands and prayed, "Dear God, thank you so much for sending me an angel, please let Charlotte come and see me again tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Charlotte did come back the next day, and the day after that and continued to see him every day after school.<p>

When the days started to become shorter, Ryan gained the confidence to go to the school gates to meet her.

He was often shooed away by dismissive teachers, stern looking females with pointy noses, grey dress suits and greying hair tied in a high bun, the type of women one would stereotype as spinsters. He imagined that witches must've looked like such grey women.

He was taunted by the departing children as they left, both boys and girls. The boys he could cope with, posh boys were no threat, they had no real experience in fighting unlike him, but the girls were different; school girls, nasty, spiteful creatures with their wicked tongues, giggling mocking smiles, they were simply mean, without reason, worse even than others he'd known because they looked down on him. Ryan however surprised himself by staying until Charlotte came.

Her smile brightened up his day despite anything that had occurred previously. He loved seeing her smile when she saw him and call his name with such joy.

Every now and then she would have something for him, be it a new marble to add to his collection or a cupcake that she had not eaten at school, Ryan soon discovered that he was rather fond of cakes and sweet things. He felt insecure though for he had nothing to offer Charlotte in return for her generosity. He wished there was something he could give her, maybe when he was older he would be able to.

* * *

><p>It was coming up for Christmas now and this worried Ryan. Christmas was never a good time for him; it usually meant that his mother's usual clients were at home with their wives and families. The only business around at Christmas were of a much rougher clientele, the kind who would more often than not be blind drunk from the festivities, these men would often walk out without paying his mother for her services and beat her in the process, if Ryan ever got in the way he too would receive a hiding. No, Christmas was not a time of jollity in his household, but what made it more unbearable was the thought of the school holidays. Charlotte would undoubtedly be home during the festive season and he would be unlikely to see her in this dark time… Perhaps she would forget about him.<p>

But this was far from the truth; in the midst of winter when the first snow began to fall, Charlotte and her father walked through London looking in the windows of toyshops. Both were wrapped in scarves and hats as they joyfully strolled the streets lit by lamplight and the sounds of carol singers around them.

It was a magical experience and Charlotte did so enjoy spending Christmas with her father who would often spoil her.

James Hargreaves held him daughter's hand tightly and led the way; he was a tall man of sturdy build, a man very much of his generation, a veteran of the Boer War. He walked with a cane more for show than support although he had been wounded in combat; he displayed a mighty moustache tinged with grey.

He knelt down to his daughter's level, "Is there anything special you'd like Father Christmas to bring you, Lottie?" That was his pet name for her; it was her grandmother's name although Charlotte had never been particularly fond of the nickname he and many others bestowed on her.

She thought carefully about the decision, it had crossed her mind perhaps to ask for a new rocking horse this year since the last one had suffered a most tragic accident falling down the stairs.

Then she saw something that caught her eye and she bounded over to window that glowed brightly from the shop lighting inside. It was beautifully crafted from a dark wood and several woodland animals such as deer and rabbits had been carved by hand along the curved front parts. She turned back to her father with a delighted expression, "Daddy? Can I have that?"

He came over and looked at the sled she had spotted, "That's not really a toy for an only child," he said softly trying not to shatter her delight.

"I know that Daddy!" she said, "Ryan and I can play on it together. Then it'll be a present for him too."

Mr Hargreaves was surprised but proud of his daughter, what a good girl she was thinking of others like that at Christmas. He just hoped that this Ryan she'd become so fond of would not receive his own sled from his parents this Christmas.

It was Christmas Day. Ryan stood at the end of the alley; he was shivering for he'd been waiting there all day hoping that Charlotte would be out today, he hadn't seen her for a week. He hugged himself to keep warm; he didn't own a coat or any other weather appropriate clothing. His teeth were chattering, his lips turning slightly blue, his black hair was white from the flakes of snow as were his eyelashes and eyebrows, but he was determined to stay right there just in case she came today.

He was struck suddenly from behind on his head. He turned and saw his mother standing there wrapped in her shawl, "Still here are you?" He nodded and continued looking down the street, "Pathetic," she muttered, she tugged the fabric of her shawl around her tighter barely noticing how her son shivered. She was getting ready to leave for work and he hoped she would go soon, he didn't want to speak to her not after what had happened the night before... His ribs still ached painfully, "Now, you little bastard, don't you dare stay out here all night or I'll tan your hide in the morning."

He could only guess that if he froze to death over night it would reflect badly on her, perhaps he should just stay out to spite her, _It'll be her own damn fault if I'm dead in the morning_, he thought as she strolled away.

He shook his head and a torrent of snow fell from his dark, wet locks.

Big Ben struck five times in the distance and the night was creeping in closer. He began to give up hope.

"Ryan!" A small voice called from down the street. He looked up excitedly and saw the only thing he'd wanted to see for days. He ran to meet her, nearly falling in the snow several times.

She dragged the sled behind her, she was well wrapped up in several layers after finally convincing her father to let her out on Christmas Day, but as soon as she saw Ryan she noticed his lack of winter clothing.

"Where's your coat? It's freezing out here!"

Ryan shook his head again throwing snowflakes everywhere, "D...d... don't... h...have...one..." he stammered through chattering teeth.

"Well this won't do, you'll get frostbite."

"W...what's...f...fr...frostbite?"

She suddenly felt very silly, "I don't know," she confessed to him, "Daddy just tells me I'll get it if I don't wear a coat outside. But I'm not going to let you get it," She started taking her gloves off, her scarf followed and then her coat and handed them to him. He was too cold to argue with her and took them; he simply smiled thankfully when he saw that she was wearing hefty looking jumper as well. Then he saw the sled behind her.

"Is that yours?" He asked as he admired it, getting on his knees to look closer at the woodwork.

"No, it's _ours_." She handed him the reigns, but he couldn't comprehend what she was saying.

"Excuse me?"

"It's from Father Christmas to both of us, so we can play together."

He laughed. His mother had always told him that he was a horrible child and that's why he didn't deserve presents at Christmas. He was so happy, he could've cried, could've picked up the girl before him and spun her around in his arms. Instead he looked at her with a wide smile and beaming eyes, "I don't need presents," he took hold of her hand and held it tight and they started walking together dragging the sled, "I have an angel."


	2. Under the Ash and the Lies

1899

It should've been a nice day, it should've been a day to enjoy the outdoors, to play with friends, a day to laugh and smile. But today would not be that sort of day, although Ryan did smile.

It shouldn't have surprised him that no one else showed up for his mother's funeral, but he'd at least expected one of her 'friends' as she called them to attend.

Ryan knew it would happen one day. That his mother just wouldn't come home one evening and that would be that. The policemen had come to his house in the hope of finding someone who would be able to identify the body but all they found was the raggedy little boy hiding under the table where his mother had told him to go whenever the police came in the past. The officers had no choice but to ask the child who was no older than twelve to accompany them to the local mortuary.

He hadn't even flinched when the sheet was removed; her face was a broken, bloody mess barely even recognisable, but he knew her, not even the mutilation of her features was enough to make him mistake her. He hated this woman too much, had wished her dead too many times, had dreamt of this moment for too long for him to make such an error. He nodded to confirm her identity, but no one had seen how he'd smiled.

The minster stood at the head of the open grave with its burden already in tow. He kept his eye on the single mourner who hung his young head, eyes staring right down into the grave.

"Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our sisterdeparted, and we commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the earth and the sea shall give up their dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his own glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself."

Ryan smirked, the very idea of Jesus Christ accepting his mother with open arms was laughable, or any woman come to think of it… Except Charlotte of course, she was the exception in his eyes to all of the female gender.

He'd known women, he'd seen what they were capable of, the lies, the deceit; he remembered little of his early years for they were spent being passed from one whore to another.

He was doted upon at first, perhaps even thought of as a novelty when he was 'knee high to a grasshopper' as they'd said, often having his cheeks pinched much too hard he thought by the elderly prostitutes, many of whom had little or no teeth.

His mother took him with her when he was still young, he could be used; and not just by her... She would beg passersby, asking them to take pity on a single mother and young child with no food; the foolish charitable folks opened their hearts and their purses willingly for the woman with a crying baby in her arms. Others, mainly the gentlemen, simply sought something else from her and when she accepted the offer, another whore would take him, and she too would use him as tool and pass him on again to another whore and so the cycle began again.

It was not until his eighth year that he finally discovered what mother did for a living. He had been playing outside, having been shooed away rudely by mother as a gentleman had arrived, but the rain had begun to fall very suddenly and rather heavily so he'd run back to their small accommodation within the known prostitutes' district. He'd struggled with the door knob with cold, wet fingers before it finally turned for him and allowed him access. He was met by an unpleasant sound, moaning, heavy breathing, coming from mother's bedroom, painful gasps and a man's growls. What was he doing to her? Was he hurting her? Was he trying to kill her? His bottom lip trembled as he edged to her bedroom door, extending his small hand towards it, he pushed it open gently but the door creaked at an unnecessarily loud volume. Ryan's young eyes fixed on the scene that he'd wished every day since that he could erase from his memory.

But the worst thing about women, all women he had known spare one, was the way they treated all others including their fellow street workers, and their children… or the children that were never to be. He had seen such horrors at their hands, had witnessed countless occurrences of the local 'doctor' as they called him paying a visit with his case of tools, those unfortunate women who would pay handsomely to have this man tear them apart internally to remove the unlucky unborn foetus' from their now mutilated wombs. Those that survived such a procedure were few and left very much barren afterwards. It had baffled the young boy why his mother had not thought to do the same thing while she was carrying him.

He hated them all, even now, they were a pestilence and his life was better off without them.

The minister finished and closed his bible.

"Can I go now?" Ryan asked innocently.

It was terribly upsetting for the minister to see this young boy all on his own on the day of his mother's funeral, no father to speak of and now no home to go either. He walked over and placed a kind hand on the boy's shoulder, "My child, where do you intend to go now?"

Ryan shrugged, he hadn't thought about it too much, "I suppose I'll be heading to the orphanage," he said dryly, "If not there then I could go to the workhouse. Mother always said I'd end up in one of those places eventually. That or jail, she'd said."

The minister sighed, what an unfortunate upbringing the poor child must've had to know such things.

He felt he had to do something for this young boy, he'd seen too many children who shared a similar lifestyle become criminals and addicts after spending those formative years in the workhouse.

"Have you eaten at all?" He asked kindly.

Ryan looked up with his piercing grey eyes which hadn't left his mother's grave, they were full of hate and loathing but surprisingly his demeanour was calm and well mannered, "No, sir"

The minister smiled.

Inside the rectory they ate a simple meal but it was more than Ryan was used to, besides, he didn't have much of an appetite today considering the circumstances. He pushed his food around the plate as he and the minster spoke about the future.

"Do you not have any other family you could go to?"

"There was only me and my mother, if there was anyone else I wasn't told of them."

The minister leant back in his chair. Father McGuire was a fair man. He had joined the priesthood at the age of sixteen after his elder brother had enlisted in the military, but after fourteen years of witnessing so many families torn apart by life's tragedies, he found his faith waning. Indeed Jesus had said 'Suffer the children to come unto me'... but he'd seen too much suffering. So Father McGuire had made a choice to help those less fortunate in any way he could. He'd realised that the power of prayer would only go so far, the goodness of God presented itself in men like himself, and it was up to him to use this goodness to help all those who sought it.

"What about friends?"

"Well, I do have _one_ friend, but..."

"But? Could his family not take you in, some folk are very considerate like that,"

Ryan looked up from his plate, "It's not a 'him', it's a 'her'," Father McGuire was intrigued, especially by the defensive look in the young boy's eyes at this statement, "But, I couldn't go there... her family's posh, they live in a big house... they'd look down their noses at me,"

"So, you have a well-to-do young lady friend, do you?" Ryan blushed and nodded, "Might I ask her name?"

"Charlotte," Father McGuire looked at him, obviously wishing to know more, "Charlotte...? Hargreaves, I think?"

"Hargreaves?" he knew the name, and was more than a little familiar with James Hargreaves. Father McGuire had in fact conducted the funeral of Emily, his wife... he also remembered Charlotte, although she was just a babe in arms all those years ago, he'd Christened her the same day he'd buried her mother, "Well, well. What a lucky young man you are to consort with such high society." He was aware however that Mr Hargreaves was a stickler for tradition and the idea of his daughter having relations -however innocent they may be- with a street urchin was unheard of.

This situation intrigued him, there was something about the way the boy's eyes had lit up saying her name, there was determination there, passion one might've said... But if it wasn't harnessed now, Father McGuire knew it would eventually be his downfall like so many before him.

"My son," he began, sitting back in his chair and making a steeple with his fingers, "I think I know somewhere you can go that's not an orphanage or a workhouse"

"Yes, he looks alright. A bit pale in the face for my liking but good enough I suppose."

"And this way, you don't even have to pay for him,"

Father McGuire had brought Ryan to the local blacksmith, Jeremy Anderson. He'd been looking for an apprentice for some time but had not had the finances to buy a child from the orphanage or workhouse. Seven guineas for a boy was an outrage in his opinion.

"So boy, let's see what you can do." Jeremy wiped his brow which did little to remove the grime on his face, he pointed to a very large looking hammer, "Can you lift that?"

It was half the size of Ryan and probably weighed as much as him, Ryan certainly had enthusiasm, but he was not a fool, "I could probably move it, but I'll damn well kill myself if I try to lift it,"

Jeremy had not expected that answer, but it amused him to hear the words come from the lad, it was good to hear honesty for once, he'd seen one boy older than Ryan try lifting it and had caused himself quite a horrific injury in an attempt to prove his strength.

"He's a smart one, Father isn't he?"

Father McGuire placed his hand on Ryan's shoulder, "Indeed he is."

"Alright Father, you have a deal. I will take the boy. C'mon then lad, let me show you what you'll be doing till you can manage to lift that hammer."

Ryan was pleased at this development in his life. At his age it was expected that he should work, in fact it was strange that he wasn't already. It was the thought of Charlotte that pleased him though, knowing that he was now a little bit further up the social ladder, closer to her.

"How's work?" Charlotte asked as they were sitting together in the park. It was spring and a nice day to enjoy the daffodils. She was aware of the tragic events of the past weeks, but Ryan seemed settled to her and didn't want to talk about it much so she didn't push him.

"It's good, how's school?"

"It's not the same knowing I'm not going to see you at the gates. I miss you."

"I know, I just wish we could spend all day together. Then I could teach you more swear words."

"I'd like that," she giggled in that playful way and blushed.

"Lottie? What are you doing?" A voice called, it boy's voice, one that had obviously only just broken in the months past for it rose and fell in tone drastically. They looked over to where the call had come from.

A teenager, perhaps sixteen years old with slicked back dark hair came over with a group of other young men who wore the same established school uniform.

"What the Hell?" Ryan asked.

"Oh God, not him..." Ryan looked at her, "That's my cousin, Gerald."

"What are you doing?" The young man called again.

Ryan got up, and reached his hand to Charlotte to lift her to her feet which she took without even thinking. The teenager was almost upon them, "Get your filthy hands off her!" he shouted.

Gerald did not throw the punch, but one of his boys did. He smacked Ryan with a sickening thud on his nose. Ryan fell to the ground clutching his face tightly as blood began to pour between his fingers. Tears welled up in his eyes from the impact rather than the pain.

"No, leave him alone!" Charlotte screamed, she placed herself between Ryan and the gang who came ever closer, extending her arms to make a barrier.

Gerald stepped forward, "What do you think you're doing?"

"What am I doing? What are _you_ doing? You can't just hit people for no reason," she turned, "Ryan are you alright?"

"… No…" he winced.

"Wait!" Gerald interjected, "You know this dust mite?"

"That's a horrible thing to say, his name's Ryan and yes I know him, he's my best friend."

Everyone gasped; it shocked Charlotte for she didn't see what the issue was. Ryan pushed himself to his feet and held his heavily bleeding nose.

"Well, what are you doing liaising with muck like that? It's disgusting." Gerald pointed rudely in Ryan's direction; he suddenly forgot about his nose and stared the older boy down.

"You slimy ponce!" Ryan yelled, and nearly threw himself at Gerald, heedless of the danger he would be putting himself in being so outnumbered. Charlotte stopped him before he could act though.

The other four boys gathered closer, ready to jump the boy when they had the opportunity.

Charlotte spun round again, his time holding Ryan's hand, "Oh just fuck off all of you!" She screamed.

Everything went silent, the sparrows in the trees flew from their branches in shock at the little girl's tone. Several people who were innocently minding their own business stopped and stared. Even Ryan couldn't believe what she'd just said but was mightily impressed with the range she had thrown the insult.

Charlotte's eyes were like fire and they burned into her cousin, "Just stay away from us, Gerald." She stared at him with a force that made him step back; she placed her arm over Ryan's shoulders and led him away.

It took a while for Ryan's nose to stop bleeding but luckily Charlotte always carried a handkerchief with her, a shame that it was an expensive one with her initials stitched into it, it would be ruined now but she was adamant that Ryan held something to his nose.

"That obnoxious thing was your cousin?" he asked, "What bad luck to have someone like that in your family," he laughed; at least he no longer had such worries in his life.

"He's a swine. He'll be the death of me one day I'm sure of it. How's your nose?"

"I think it's stopped bleeding. It hurts, but I don't think it's broken."

"Good. Look, I'm sorry but I've got to get home... If Gerald stays true to form he'll head to Daddy and tell him what happened."

"You won't get into trouble will you?"

Charlotte shrugged; she might get into trouble for swearing but in truth Gerald had been to blame for threatening her and her friend, even having him beaten up, so surely he should be in more trouble.

When she got home, her father was indeed waiting for her as was Gerald.

"I hear you've been in spot of bother, my dear." Her father said sternly, sitting on the chair in his study behind his desk with Gerald standing by his side.

"I didn't mean to swear, Daddy, but Gerald's friend hit Ryan first. I just wanted them to go away and leave us alone," Her words were rushed as she tried to explain the situation without being interrupted by either of them.

Mr Hargreaves' expression did not change, "That's not what I meant," his moustache quivered, Charlotte gulped, what else could be wrong, she was sure she hadn't done anything else, "It would seem you've been associating yourself with someone… below you," The look on Charlotte's face revealed her ignorance in the matter, "This… Ryan, you've been seeing, he's not from your school is he?"

"I never said he was, Daddy." He had to accept that, he'd never even thought to ask her about it.

"Gerald here tells me he's one of the lower class,"

"A filthy little creature, uncle, and he laid his hands on her."

"Excuse me, but I don't understand the problem," she said at last, "I have a friend, a very good friend who just happens to live the poorer district, he's a nice boy…"

"But what are his intentions?" Gerald spat. Charlotte looked confused and gave her father a quizzical glance.

"Enough Gerald, she's only eleven," The last thing Mr Hargreaves wanted was for his little girl to get ideas of that sort. He stood up and reached for his cane, he strode round the desk and looked down at his daughter; he was an intimidating man at the best of times, "Lottie, you know very well what plans I have for you in the future don't you?"

She bit her lip and gave Gerald an uncomfortable look, "Yes, Daddy."

"And you wouldn't do anything to upset those plans would you; I am after all looking out for you and your wellbeing."

"No, Daddy."

"That's right," he nodded at Gerald. It was a hard decision but the older man had witnessed this sort of thing before, albeit the pair in question were older but restraint by the parents had not helped the situation and had only made it worse, "Now, I'm not going to tell you that you can't see this young boy, especially as he's such a good friend as you say, it's good that you have friends and charitable of you to befriend the less fortunate," In the background Gerald's face dropped, "But you should keep in mind what's going to happen, don't let yourself get carried away with this young boy. After all, hooker's spawn aren't meant to be trusted."

"Yes, Daddy."

With that the conversation was ended and Charlotte left the study and went to her bedroom. Today had been an eye-opening experience to say the least, she'd never realised the class system was divided to such an extreme, that it was such a bad thing that she saw Ryan as a friend. She could only feel relief in the knowledge that Daddy had not stopped her from seeing him entirely, not that she would've obeyed him, Ryan was too much fun to be away from.


	3. Lips and Skin, Like Sin

**_A/N: Thanks to all reviewers/adders/followers. You guys are great! Ok... this is the chapter that makes me think, "Argh! Do I REALLY wanna submit this?" But, oh dear, here goes nothing! Geronimo!_**

* * *

><p><span>1905<span>

Ryan lifted the hammer and brought it down with power and precision on the red hot iron he held in the tongs. The impact created sparks that glistened off the sweat on his body. His hair hung haphazardly in front of his face but he knew what he was doing now. He was bare-chested for it was too hot to work with his shirt on. He had developed into a handsome young man with well toned muscle to show for his work although some would've said he was still a bit on the skinny side.

He repeated the manoeuvre several times, the shape of the horse shoe he was making finally becoming obvious. Another well aimed strike finished the job. Ryan inspected his work, keeping the tongs well away from his face. Not bad if he were to say so himself, he smiled in satisfaction before placing the metal into a barrel of water to cool it.

His arms ached and so did his shoulders but that would pass eventually, and they certainly didn't hurt as much as they had done a year ago when he'd first started the real labour. He turned, wiped his brow with his arm and beheld a pleasant surprise to which he smiled in delight.

Charlotte was sixteen years old now and becoming quite an attractive young lady. Today she wore a blue outfit consisting of a blouse, a jacket and a long skirt. She carried a parasol in her left hand and her hair was styled in ringlets today. A pleasant toothy smile was on her face as she'd been watching him for some time without him realising.

"I did wonder why there were so many eligible young ladies around here but now I see why. I could watch you doing that all day,"

"Ah, but if you were to do that then I'd never get any work done, would I? Besides, I only see one eligible young lady..." He took a quick look around at the people who walked past, yes there were women out today, street workers and those of a better class, some looked at him but he simply returned their giggling smiles and winks with an icy stare, "All the others are whores."

She gasped and smacked his arm playfully, "You shouldn't say such things."

He had good reason for such an outburst; he'd seen as he'd aged and matured a different side to women... Those few occasions when he could meet Charlotte from school, those same girls who had taunted him, mocked him and laughed at him when he was ten, now began a different ritualistic behaviour. They had flirted, giggled admiringly, had waved their hands falsely in front of their faces to 'stop' themselves from becoming flushed.

These same girls... oh how they sickened him. The very thought of becoming enticed by such gorgon like sirens was repulsive... Yes, they were very much whores and deserved to be called such.

"How were the exams?" he asked, referring to her schooling. She would soon finish entirely and go on, and then she would attend finishing school as they called it for two years, where a young girl would learn to become a true 'lady'. Luckily she would be able to stay in the same London district and even remain at her house with her father.

"Average. I don't think I did very well in maths though."

He leant on the door frame as he listened to her and pushed the hair from his eyes, "Does that matter to you?"

She laughed, "Not particularly." He laughed with her, "Enough chat, get yourself ready and we'll go for a walk."

Ryan grabbed his shirt and told Jeremy that he would be back later. Jeremy looked at the doorway seeing a young lady in blue, "Tell you what, son, take the rest of the day off. I can manage things here."

They walked for a long time chatting about nothing in particular but enjoying it nonetheless. It was good to get out during the day, although the occasional disapproving stare passed their way. Were they offended by the difference in class, or was it simply that they were unmarried? It used to make Ryan feel uneasy knowing that others would be thinking this, but Charlotte had kept insisting that it didn't matter, she only laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

"You said it yourself; I'm posh, therefore I can associate with whomever I chose whether they're willing or not and it's called socialising… But if you chose to associate yourself with me even with my consent then it's called rape,"

Every now and then, Charlotte slipped her arm through Ryan's to see what the reactions from passersby would be. Several people actually stopped dead in their tracks to take in the spectacle.

They both laughed as they walked on.

In a narrow alleyway they stopped and stood against the wall next to each other in silence. Ryan made himself a cigarette.

"May I?" Charlotte asked as he lit it.

"Be my guest," this would be interesting. Charlotte held the cigarette between her thin fingers, placed it to her lips and inhaled. She coughed violently and Ryan laughed as she struggled for breath.

"Oh God, that's horrible," she managed to say, he was about to take it back from her when she snatched her hand away, "No! I'm not finished yet. I'm trying again." Ryan shook his head in humoured dismay, this time she managed to not cough but the look on her face was still priceless, "It's not bad."

"You're a bad liar," he said as she handed the cigarette to him.

Charlotte edged closer, looking up to admire him, these days the mere sight of him gave her the sensation of butterflies in her stomach. His features were striking, and with those grey, blue eyes and slightly messy dark hair he was quite pleasant to look upon, it was hardly surprising that he was often followed by young ladies, although he seemed to loathe the attention. Charlotte placed her head on his shoulder and was about to say something when a clatter of noise came from further down the alley.

A figure came towards them, or rather stumbled towards them, supporting themself on the wall, they'd knocked over a random flower pot on a window sill.

"Oh, I shee," that annoyingly recognisable voice said, "I should've known you'd be here, with him!"

"Gerald?"

"Oh shit…" Ryan sighed. He'd grown rather sick of this kind of thing happening over and over again; in fact this had been the third time this week her poxy cousin had shown up.

"What on Earth are you doing...? Are you following me again?"

"Shomeone'sh got to look out for you. You never know when the nexsht shcumbag will show up," he pointed in Ryan's direction, "Oh look, there'sh one now!"

Ryan chose to ignore the insult, Charlotte however had gotten close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, "Oh God Gerald have you been drinking? For God's sake, it's two in the bloody afternoon."

Gerald ignored his cousin and simply looked at Ryan, "Anymore choice phrashesh you'd like to impart to my dear coushin?" Ryan stayed silent, not even looking in his direction, "What'sh wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

He exhaled smoke through pursed lips in a sigh, "No, Gerald. I just have nothing to say to you."

"Go home, Gerald," Charlotte insisted, "You're embarrassing me in front of my friend and making a fool of yourself."

"I'll go," Gerald grabbed Charlotte's wrist, "Only if you come with me, Lottie."

"Gerald! Let go, you're hurting me!" He tugged harder, grabbing her other wrist now and pulling her back, "Let me go!" They struggled back and forth for a while, Gerald leered at her and wrenched her more aggressively towards him until someone pulled him away by his shoulder and a fist impacted with his face, the bone cracked. Gerald hit the wall and slumped down the brickwork holding his nose which started to bleed profusely, he looked up and saw Ryan standing over him, his fist clenched, his eyes a burning blaze of fury.

"Don't you ever lay your hands on her again!"

Charlotte had watched in awe as Ryan had come from behind and effectively saved her for want of a better word, "Ryan?" she asked unsteadily in a whisper, "Are you alright?" she came over to him and took hold of the hand he'd used, it was already red and the skin had come off his knuckles. Ryan's eyes didn't leave Gerald and Gerald looked like he'd just seen death come for him, the young man had never been so scared in his life.

"He's just hit me, Lottie and you ask if _he's_ alright? I should have you arrested for assault, hooker's spawn."

Ryan tensed up at the name, but Charlotte moved quickly in front of him, "You will do no such thing, not while I'm around. Just go home Gerald, sleep it off, walk it off, I really don't care, just get the Hell out of my sight."

Gerald stumbled to his feet not daring to take his eyes off Ryan, "This isn't over… You haven't won yet." And with that Gerald left, falling over a dustbin in the process but he left all the same.

Charlotte looked at Ryan and saw the look in his eyes, a look she hadn't seen for some time. It was how his eyes went when his mother had hit him, when he'd been taunted by the students at her school; she'd even seen him once give that look to a young woman of the street who'd tried to make a quick earning out of him. It was a look that scared her, inside he was still such an angry man but she'd never before seen him respond to his anger before now.

She said his name again and he looked at her, the anger disappearing from him slowly, "I'm sorry," he said at last, "I don't know what happened, I… I just saw him handling you like that and how he… looked at you…"

"It's alright," she soothed him as she took his hands, she had seen how Gerald had looked at her too and it made her feel dirty, "You did nothing wrong,"

"Fucking bastard, touching you like that," he leant his head to hers and their foreheads met, "I won't have anyone treat you like that, Charlotte, you're too good to be treated like that." He was shaking as he wrapped his arms around her and brought her close, she accepted his embrace willingly and returned it, comforted by the beating of his heart against her bosom. She continued to reassure him with whispers although it was just as much for her own comfort.

It took all of Ryan's courage, but he kissed her neck gently, "I love you…" he whispered.

Charlotte smiled against his chest as she heard those words, but was still too naive to understand their significance, "I know you do." She responded.

In that moment, those four words shattered Ryan's soul. He hadn't known what to expect after he'd confessed such a secret to her, if truth be told he'd wanted to say this at another time, in another place, to tell her how warm she made him feel inside, for it to be romantic experience, but his emotions were running away with him, too intense to control… _I know you do_, the words echoed in his mind and they burned like fire. He pushed her away, turning his head from her, "I have to go…"

"No you don't," she said as he started walking away. He couldn't look at her. She called after him a few times but her words were not reaching him inside his thoughts. He walked without purpose, out of her sight, away from her blue eyes which bore into him.

Charlotte didn't know what her words had sparked within him; she could only assume his behaviour to be result of the incident with Gerald. She wanted to run after him, but she knew him too well, if he needed time alone then that was his choice, everyone needed time alone sometimes but she hoped he wouldn't do anything silly.

Ryan didn't know where he was going, or particularly care for that matter. It didn't bother him that he suddenly found himself within the Whitechapel district with its known slander and debauchery.

It had gotten dark rather quickly and the night predators began to emerge, both male and female. The street workers kept to the shadows mostly, but the sounds they made were easily heard, mostly cat calls although the sound of aggressive moaning could be heard from some of the darker alleys.

Ryan passed a few of the women who proceeded to try their best at attracting the attention of a potential customer.

"See anything you like, gorgeous?"

"Looking for a good time?"

Some waved their fans suggestively across their faces; others licked their lips as he walked by and blew kisses at him.

He tried to ignore all of them, these were the same methods his mother had used and the idea of being near anything that resembled her was nauseating.

He stumbled upon a small inn and went inside, out of the cold and away from the ravenous eyes of the whores. Quickly going up the bar he ordered a shot of gin as he took a seat; he was not inclined to drowning his sorrows usually but this was not a usual situation.

He fingered the glass for a while, turning it this way and that as he contemplated the future, perhaps he'd overreacted, perhaps she wasn't simply rejecting him as he'd thought, she was only sixteen years old after all and had had a rather sheltered upbringing compared to his own.

He hardly noticed someone sit next to him. He wasn't startled as this person took his hand, lifted it and raised it towards her ruby red lips, she smiled at him, "Cheer up, dear, it might never happen," she began kissing his fingers delicately.

This was new, whores didn't usually act with such grace, maybe she was new to the profession or even a high priced whore; she certainly had the good looks to charge more for her services. She was definitely a whore though, no woman of any other standing approached a man in such a manner, and few would even speak with a man they'd never been introduced to.

"What if it already has?" he asked her sarcastically.

"Hmmm..." she whispered, "Then I know a way to make it all better," she opened her mouth and took his finger in her mouth and began sucking.

Ryan gasped at the sensation of her tongue rolling against his skin, he tried to resist, "I don't need your services,"

"Why's that then, do you have a girl? Because that doesn't bother me,"

She was not like the others, she was indeed sexy and was willing at a time when he felt he needed attention, but no, he was better than that. He took his hand back from her quickly. "No, I don't need that kind of attention."

She smiled a sultry smile and rose from her seat, her eyes shifting down his body to catch a glimpse of how 'uninterested' he was in her, "Very well, I'll be outside if you change your mind though."

He watched her leave; her hips swayed an obvious invite to him. He tapped the glass again, downed it in one go and then got up and followed her.

The alley way was dark and damp but it would do. She smelt of lavender and her kisses tasted so sweet, her tongue a coiling serpent ready to strike venom. His first kiss. It was overbearing and domineering, all too soon over as she kissed him again but rougher this time, and again, her self-confidence in her own skill evident as her tongue pushed into his mouth to meet his own. The sensations of his lips and tongue against hers spread through his whole body, unbridled passion scorched his veins and went deeper still to his gut and further. The whore pushed him to the wall and ground herself against him as she kissed his lips, his neck, unbuttoned his shirt and licked his collarbone with that delicious tongue of hers.

He hadn't expected his first time with a woman to be like this. He'd thought about it, often... what young man didn't? But this, this was intense and exciting; he had an experienced woman to show him the way. She took complete control, rubbed the muscles of his chest and stomach, her fingers caressed each curve as they went lower, with expert precision she began to unbuckle his belt single handed.

For the first time he felt a woman's breasts in his hands and he forgot all about everything and everyone else, for touching her was taking the pain away, having her touch him burnt like ice, it was exhilarating. She was forceful; she knew exactly what she was doing, a master of teasing and trickery. He couldn't believe what she was doing as she descended to her knees and took him in her mouth, oh that tongue of hers... His legs buckled and he slid down the wall, breathing heavily and his eyes tightly closed, all the while she kept sucking, licking, using her smooth hands against him as well as her mouth until... she released him, lifting her layers of skirts to sit astride him. He gasped as he felt her slide over and around him.

She stopped, teasing him yet again. He grabbed her hips and tried to drag her down but she didn't move, instead she began laughing, "This is you first time isn't it?" Ryan couldn't answer her; it would be too much effort, "That's alright," She said as she slowly moved her hips down and then up again which made him throw his head back and gasp aloud... she was warm, oh so warm... tight and moist, just like her mouth had been around him, "Your little girlfriend wouldn't have been this good."

Ryan stopped and opened his eyes, staring at the whore he realised what he was doing, he was replacing her, replacing Charlotte with a whore, a whore just like his slut mother. _Oh God, no!_ He thought. It was too late to stop, the moment was inevitable. It wasn't supposed to be like this, not like this… It was meant to be different, it was meant to be… with her… _Fucking slut! How dare you compare yourself to her. She's mine! And you... are not her!_ For the second time that day, Ryan's eyes blazed in a fury he could not control...


	4. As You Sit There All Alone

It was late in the evening, Charlotte's father had already gone to bed completely exhausted after a long evening at his 'gentleman's club'. Charlotte laughed thinking about how tiring it must be sitting in those large chairs drinking brandy and smoking cigars as the old chaps 'put the world to rights'. Her hair was brushed and her nightie was on, she crawled into her large bed and began reading the very large volume of complete Shakespeare, tonight's play was appropriately A Midsummer Nights Dream, one of her favourites, but something distracted her attention on the first page.

A tapping sound, very light, against her bedroom window. _What on Earth?_ She got up and opened the bedroom windows widely and stared out into the darkness outside.

"Charlotte…" someone whispered.

She looked down and could only just make him out, "Ryan? What are you doing here, it's so late,"

"I'm so sorry…" he mumbled, it sounded as if he'd been crying, "I need to see you, please?"

She quickly latched the windows open and beckoned for him to climb the trellis that ascended right up to her window but warned him to be as quiet as possible.

It did not take him long, he appeared frantic and she could hear him panting way before he reached her. His hands grasped the window sill and he dragged himself inside and fell to her carpeted floor.

She could've screamed but stopped herself; his white shirt, his hands and areas around his face were covered in blood.

"Oh God, Ryan!"

He put his hands up to stop her coming to him, "Don't worry… It's not my blood,"

The look on her face quickly changed from concern to shock, "Not yours?... But whose…?" she stopped as she saw the look in his eyes, tears streamed down his face.

"I'm so… sorry…" he managed through the sobs, "I couldn't… think of anyone else to c-come to…"

She knelt on the ground and took his head softly in her hands and moved the hair from his face, he looked so scared, so remorseful, so desperate, how could she possibly let him down now?

She lifted him to his feet and told him not to touch anything as she began to unbutton his shirt and start sliding it off him. Her delicate fingers moved gracefully as she tried to avoid the blood as best she could. She tried concentrating on the task at hand, getting his shirt off him without staining anything around them but she was fascinated by him, she had not been able to admire his physique this closely before, his body was so well toned from his labours. He was indeed becoming a fine specimen of a man and had the situation not been so deathly serious, Charlotte was sure she would've been blushing. Instead, she gulped and rose her eyes to his blood stained face, he on the other hand, did all he could to avoid her eyes.

When his shirt was off she wrapped it in her face towel and poured water from the jug on her vanity table into the waiting bowl. She took him by his trembling hand, sat him on the stool and gently began cleaning the blood from him with her flannel.

Ryan watched her in wonder as she did this and couldn't have been more grateful for her silence; the screams from earlier still rang in his ears. Their eyes met fleetingly several times as she gently brushed the flannel against his cheeks but no words were uttered. She would simply take care of him, and he would let her as he always had done.

Later they sat by the open window breathing in the night air. Ryan was calmer now but still very much shaken. He tried to make himself a cigarette but his fingers trembled so much that it was impossible, Charlotte took his hands.

"Let me do it," she whispered making sure her voice was gentle as she took the materials from his fingers. She'd never made one herself but she'd seen him do it enough times to know the technique. Ryan gasped slightly as he watched her lick the paper to seal it but Charlotte didn't seem to notice. She even had the courtesy to light it for him, realising that allowing him the use of matches right now was not a good idea.

"When did you learn to do that?" he asked

She smiled at him, "If I didn't know by now just from watching you then I'd be a very poor friend," he smiled back at her and took his cigarette.

"Charlotte, I-" He didn't have time to complete the sentence. Somewhere outside a nearby policeman sounded the alarm by blowing his whistle alerting others to come to the scene of a crime he'd discovered.

Ryan quickly backed himself into the corner and covered his ears, "Oh God, oh God, oh God…" he repeated over and over again.

_Oh Goodness,_ Charlotte thought as she closed the windows to block the noise out, _What in Heaven has he done?_ "Ryan…" she reached for him and took him in her arms and began rocking him back and forth.

"Charlotte," he sobbed, "I've done something terrible…"

"It's alright dear," she soothed him and stoked his ebony hair.

"It's not though… Oh God what have I done?"

"I don't care what you've done," she whispered softly, he lifted his head to look at her, "It doesn't matter to me. All that matters to me is you,"

"But… I…"

"No, dearest, don't tell me," she kissed his forehead, "You're going to stay here tonight so I can look after you."

"I can't…"

"Yes you can. I'm not letting you out there, not tonight. You'll be safe here, with me," she looked him in the eyes and moved his hair again, "Just promise me, whatever you did, promise me you won't ever do it again."

Ryan moved his hand over hers and brought her wrist to his mouth and kissed it, "I promise, sweetheart..." An idea came to Charlotte then and she went to move away but Ryan held her arm, "Where are you going?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Just here. I have something for you." He let her go reluctantly and she walked to her bedside table, "I was going to save this for your nineteenth, but now seems like a better time," she passed him a small box which he accepted gingerly while looking at her, she knelt in front of him, "Well, go on."

Ryan opened the box, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes,"

It was a cigarette case, engraved with Ryan's initials, the whole case made entirely out of silver, "Charlotte, I can't accept this, it's too much."

"No Ryan, I'll decide when something is too much. It makes me happy to give you these things,"

He tightly embraced her waist, his head leaning just below her breast line while she stroked his hair, then she took his hand and led him over to her bed.

They laid there for a long time in silence, holding hands and cuddling one another. There was a lot of commotion outside but neither of them cared.

Ryan replayed the awful scenario in his mind as he stroked the bare skin on Charlotte's arm. He wouldn't have blamed her at all if she'd shunned him, if she'd screamed and run away at the sight of him dripping with blood; how she could bear to have him hold her like this was incomprehensible, what must she think of him? He hugged her tighter; whatever her reasons, whatever power it was that kept her here with him in this moment he was grateful for it. She was _too_ good, _too_ precious…

Charlotte lay with her head on his bare chest, wondering about the moments just passed. What had he done, where had he gone and who with? She could just ask him but it seemed somehow irrelevant now they were here together, besides, he had come to her with nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to… No, she wouldn't ask him, and she vowed to never ask him, as crazy as it sounded, she could not bring herself to ruin the perfect impressions she had of him, to her he was everything and not even the events of tonight would change that.

The noise outside her window did not cease, Whitechapel was quite some distance from her home but on a quiet night sound travelled easily.

The sun began to rise as Charlotte finally drifted into sleep, and when she was restful Ryan left. It was of good fortune that he had left a jacket the last time he'd climbed into her bedroom to see her and even better that she'd never remembered to return it to him.

The streets were busy for the time of day; jitteriness filled the people who strolled there this morning. Surprising how quickly news travels in London, many people were discussing last night, and even some boys who sold paperboys were exclaiming of their exclusive editions; first reporter on the scene and the like… Ryan tried to ignore what he heard, the details seemed twisted to him from what he recalled.

Big Ben chimed the sixth hour. He still had time before he'd need to head to work, time enough to cleanse himself… in spirit at least.

Inside, the church felt warm, a distinct difference to the coldness of its exterior. Ryan made his way past the pews, looking straight ahead to the carved image of Christ hanging upon the crucifix. It was a sombre image of the Saviour's sacrifice, the figure hung lifelessly from his burden, lacerations adorning His face from the crown of thorns. He'd never been a particularly religious man, but here in the eyes of God he suddenly felt very small indeed. The confessional boxes were easily found and Ryan closed the door behind him. He sat, crossed himself and then placed his hands together in prayer, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned… This is my first confession,"

A comfortingly familiar voice came from the other side of the netting dividing the two booths, and Ryan was glad to hear it, "The Lord hears you, my child."

"Last night, I lay with a woman for the first time in sin…" he gulped and licked his lips, "…But I've done something worse than that, Father… The tragic thing that happened last night, you must've heard about it already… I'm responsible… I confess to it."

The priest on the other side was quiet for a moment letting this knowledge sink in and also to give Ryan some time to breathe after admitting such a thing. Father McGuire sighed before he spoke, "Tell me Ryan; was it Charlotte?"

She quickly got herself dressed in a plain outfit, ran a brush through her dark hair making the ringlets drop to made the style wavy and grabbed a bag; she could just tell Daddy that she heading into the city to meet someone, she didn't have to say who. She stuffed the bloodied shirt Ryan had worn last night, the flannel and the towel she'd used to clean him with in the bottom of her bag and placed one of her own shawls on top to cover the evidence. It annoyed her immensely that she had fallen asleep and worried her that he had left; she hoped he was okay wherever he was, but there was no time to fret, she had to move quickly if she were to keep it secret. She ran down the staircase which was decorated with portraits of deceased family members of bygone years and into the hall. Mr Hargreaves was in his study having his breakfast. A silver tray was placed on his desk with a boiled egg in its holder and slices of toast ready to be buttered. On the side was today's newspaper but he hadn't had a chance to read it yet, the morning mail was the priority as usual. She knocked on his door.

"Good morning, Lottie," he beamed at her, "Coming to have breakfast with your old dad are you?"

She smirked at his good mood, "No thank you, Daddy. I'm not very hungry this morning. I thought I might go to Oxford Street, Alyssa said she would be there and we could go for lunch together." Alyssa was an old friend from school but Charlotte rarely had much to do with her these days. Alyssa had had extreme objections to Ryan's company.

Charlotte spied the front of the newspaper; it was folded in the centre so the headline was obscured, the only letters she could make out were 'WHIT' and then below smaller text with the name Jack, the article went down from there but the writing was much too small for her to read from there.

James was disappointed that she couldn't stay but it was good that she was meeting old friends so he let her go without thinking twice.

By 10'o'clock the streets were bustling. Charlotte manoeuvred her way through the crowds, clutching her bag tightly; a few people looked shaken and were talking to one another in hushed tones, the same phrases kept being repeated, 'I heard', 'I reckon', 'Not safe to walk the streets', 'Should be hanged'.

_Just stay focused,_ she told herself, _Don't get distracted, don't listen to it…_ She just had to get to the Thames, just get to the docks and it'll be over.

She rounded the corner and bumped into a boy carrying newspapers which he dropped, "'Ere, watch where you're goin' Miss, you'll have me eye ou'" Charlotte gripped her bag to her chest tightly and her breathing became shallow and quick, "'Ere, Miss, you alrigh'? You ain't half pale," Her eyes scanned the scattered newspapers in disbelief, the headline repeated itself on the ground, 'WHITECHAPEL MURDER' 'Has Jack the Ripper Returned?'

_Oh God no, not Ryan, not my Ryan!_ This couldn't be what he'd done, surely he hadn't killed someone, not that little boy she'd played marbles with, not the young man she so admired now, _Not my Ryan!_ She got up, clutching the bag so tightly her knuckles went white. She walked on, oblivious to the noise now and the commotion; the words Jack the Ripper never left her mind, those murders were still in living memory but it had been fifteen years ago, a riot would surely ensue in the hunt for this man, especially if they suspected it to be the infamous serial killer. She made her way as quickly as she could to the docks.

These boots were not made for such places so she braved the mud barefooted, holding her skirt above her knees to stop it getting messy. The look in her eyes was one of determination. All she could think of was Ryan, she had to help him, had to protect him, perhaps he hadn't been responsible for the murder last night, perhaps it was just bad luck, in which case she wouldn't let him be blamed for it, and if he _had_… That was irrelevant. She had to help him.

At last she saw what she'd been looking for, an old metal barrel down by the waterline, smoke still rose from it where the homeless had used it to keep warm in the night. Charlotte nearly slipped in the dark mud which was black in colour from the various oils and pollutants in the River Thames; it seeped between her toes and submerged her feet entirely at times. A sharp pain shot through her left foot and she cried out, not daring to look; no doubt it was a shard of glass carelessly discarded. Charlotte limped the rest of the way as best she could; when she reached the barrel she saw there was still a small flame inside. She lifted the bag to the edge, she hadn't intended to burn everything but right now she really didn't care, she pulled out her shawl and threw it in first in the hope that it would encourage the flame. It responded almost instantly, burning much stronger as it devoured the expensive fabric. When it reached an adequate heat, Charlotte dumped the whole bag inside the barrel and stood back to watch it burn.

It was done. She rubbed her arms as a strange chill ran up her spine and slowly began to make her way back to street and her boots.

_It'll be alright now, everything will be alright..._ She sorted herself out quickly, removing the shard of glass in her foot with only a little difficulty, but it bled like nothing she'd ever seen before. She would just say she'd sprained her ankle if anyone asked why she was limping.

She hailed a carriage when she got back to the street and asked the driver to take her to a specific address. The two horses dragged the carriage through the streets and Charlotte relaxed for the first time that day.

She reached the blacksmiths in good time and asked the driver to wait a moment for her. She found Ryan round the back, his hands shaking as he smoked. His eyes filled with shock when he saw her, he didn't know what to do although he was happy she had come. She looked at him seriously, looking into his lovely eyes trying to find answers. He gazed at her, wondering why she'd come here at all, surely she could've guessed by now.

Finally Charlotte started crying, Ryan came forward and embraced her tightly, and she gave him an equally tight hug and whispered, "Ryan... I disposed of the evidence... No one can link you with what's happened now."

Ryan couldn't believe what she said, and he nearly started crying himself. It was unbelievable that she would go to such lengths, "Thank you..." he whispered back and kissed her neck.

That night would remain a secret between them.


	5. All That I Have

1908

It was Ryan's twenty-first birthday today, he'd been waiting for this day for years, finally he was old enough to be considered a man and today he had plans.

What happened that night two years ago still played on his mind, but with the combination of his confession to Father McGuire and Charlotte's forgiveness he managed to fight past the demons… and the urges. Urges he didn't understand, urges he'd found hard to keep from his mind as he lay in bed. Often he found himself dwelling on it, every little feeling that he'd felt, the subtleties, the tingling he'd experienced at the height of it, the rush of force, the pulse, taste, the sounds... Everything... And these days, he found himself smiling at the memory, even resorting to pleasuring himself over it.

Charlotte never did ask him about what happened exactly and by some fortune of grace her behaviour towards him never changed.

He waited in the busy street in the middle of a bustling London. Charlotte had said she would meet him by the railway station and that she would take him somewhere special, he wondered what delights she would bestow on him today, she had given him a birthday present without fail for the last ten years, but this she promised was going to be a very special gift.

He removed a cigarette from the engraved silver holder he still carried with him and lit it. He fumbled with a small box in his pocket. Where was she? Typical of her to be late; today of all days. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette as he looked around; butterflies welled in his stomach as his anticipation grew.

"Ryan!" He rose his head, and smiled before he'd even seen her. Her gloved hands were visible first, waving above the crowd of people that swarmed around her. She pushed her way through the passersby apologising as she went but Ryan knew that inside she was swearing her guts out. He really shouldn't have encouraged her to swear when they were children, but it had been funny to teach such a posh girl to say shit and fuck under her breath in frustration.

She was dressed in her finery, putting him to shame, but then her smile usually made him feel like that most days. The colour of choice was a cherry red outfit edged in black, Ryan's favourite colour so she'd obviously done this intentionally.

They embraced tightly as they usually did, it didn't matter to either of them how people stared; an unmarried couple showing affection in public, it was an outrage, but what did it matter.

"So, birthday boy! How does it feel to be a man?"

"I'm not sure," he responded honestly, "I was going to ask you!"

She laughed at his sarcasm, and then she reached for his hand and took his cigarette so she could take a puff or two. It didn't matter how many times he saw her do this, it always surprised him.

"Come on," she chirped as she gave it back to him, "Let's go."

"Go where?"

"I've got a really good idea for your birthday, as you're officially a man now."

She moved, but he held her hand and pulled her back, "You haven't hired a prostitute for me, have you?" he smirked.

She gasped and laughed at the same time and hit him with her bag, "You swine! Come on."

They held hands walking the streets of London; Charlotte led the way towards the more expensive shops until she stopped outside of one and turned to Ryan with a beaming smile across her face. He looked up to see that she had led him to a tailor, no, one of the most expensive tailors in London.

"Oh no Charlotte, you're not serious?"

"When have I ever not been serious?" she began dragging him into the shop.

"I can't go in there. I'm not welcome in such places, especially with my attire."

Charlotte sighed at him, "Listen to me, this is your birthday present and I am taking you in here."

"I think I'd rather have the prostitute..."

The tailor was a sweet old man, Jewish by heritage. He greeted both of them although was a little taken aback by the young lady's gentleman friend. Charlotte explained exactly what she was looking for and the tailor gave Ryan a sweet smile, took his tape measure from round his neck and led Ryan into another room to have his measurements taken. As the old man closed the curtain behind them, he gave Ryan a knowing wink, "What a lucky young man, you are," Ryan smirked, he could only hope that his luck would hold up for the rest of day.

Charlotte took a seat in the shop and took her time to flick through the various fashion catalogues. It gave her a moment to reflect.

As the details of the crime had emerged in the newspapers over the following weeks, Charlotte had tried to take as little notice as possible. When she happened to overhear her father discussing it with friends one day, this was the first she'd heard about the victim being a woman of the street it only validated in her mind that Ryan could not have done it; Ryan would never associate himself with the likes of someone like that. But that was in the past now.

The curtain was pulled back and Ryan emerged. He looked stunning; he could not have looked more dashing if he'd tried. The tailor had certainly earned his charge and his tip Charlotte thought as she rose to her feet and inspected the young gentleman before her. He wore a tail coat fitted to perfection, an immaculate hand-made waist coat made of black and blue silk, a neck tie, the whole works and to top it all his long black hair was tied in a low pony tail. He looked like a regular prince charming right now.

"Oh Ryan," she beamed as he admired his new outfit in several mirrors, "You look wonderful."

"The fitting is to your liking, sir?" the elderly tailor asked.

It was clear that he was still not used to being called sir by anyone so Charlotte responded for him, "Yes, thank you. I'll pay for this," Ryan turned and looked at her slightly dismayed, she tapped his arm, "It's the young gentleman's birthday, and this is his present"

"Very good, madam,"

Ryan felt relieved, it was always embarrassing when she paid for him regardless of how she said it was for her pleasure as well as his, but this at least gave him an excuse this time.

Charlotte paid and they left the shop.

The strolled arm in arm to Victoria Park where they sat upon a bench together.

"Thank you so much, sweetheart," he whispered to her.

"You're welcome," she gave him a hug as he lit another cigarette, he passed it to her and she placed her lips to his fingers to inhale. She loved doing that and he also enjoyed the feeling of her lips there, "So what would you like to do now? It's your birthday; we can do anything you want."

He thought for a moment as he smoked, "Perhaps we could go back to your house,"

This was a surprise, "Really? That's what you want to do?"

"Yes, if you don't mind." It was nice to spend time with her like this, but he still had plans of his own and as this was his day he intended to use it to his full advantage.

"Of course not," Charlotte gave him a peck on the cheek which sent a wave of warmth through him.

They took a coach home, another courtesy on Charlotte's part. The swaying of the carriage and the clip-clopping of the horse's hooves gave Charlotte an excuse to cuddle up next to him, it was secluded also which meant no one could tut and shake their heads disapprovingly at their 'sinful' closeness. Ryan's mind was far away, in the near future, rehearsing what he was going to say for the hundredth time.

When they reached Charlotte's father's house, Ryan was trembling and his lips felt dry, "Are you feeling well?" Charlotte asked him.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just nervous, it's been a while since I last met your father," Ryan and Mr Hargreaves had met fleetingly in the past; after the murder of 1905 James had made the decision to escort his daughter whenever she left the house which had meant taking her right up to the entrance to the blacksmiths. He had been impressed by the young man who seemed so intent on bettering himself, but had on one occasion given a very nervous Ryan a 'protective father talk'. This young girl was his life, the image of her mother and the only thing he had to remind him of her, if any harm or 'mishap' were to befall her he would know exactly who he would come to first to lay blame. 'Mishap' being the emphasised word in that sentence and Ryan knew exactly when the veteran had meant when he said it.

"That shouldn't worry you; he's not as threatening as he looks. Besides, you're a gentleman now, and you look so dashing,"

He laughed at her confidence but she did not know what he planned to do. She took his hand and led him in.

"Daddy!" she called, "Daddy, I'm home!"

Mr Hargreaves looked a lot older than Ryan remembered him and perhaps a bit stouter but he still retained that same air of authority. He embraced his daughter joyfully and nodded at young Ryan and even shook his hand wishing him many happy returns of the day which Ryan took to be a good sign.

Charlotte removed the large hat she wore and hung it up along with her lace gloves saying that she would arrange for some tea to be brought to the study before she shot off leaving Ryan and Mr Hargreaves alone.

James turned to head to his study.

"Mr Hargreaves, sir?" Ryan asked. James turned to face the young lad and Ryan took a deep breath before speaking again, "I wondered if I might have a word with you in private?"

"Of course lad, follow me."

Ryan followed Mr Hargreaves to his study and shut the door behind him. He adjusted his tie which now felt suddenly very tight and his mouth very dry.

Mr Hargreaves offered him a drink from the cabinet but Ryan declined, wanting to keep his head clear for this moment but he did accept the old man's offer to smoke as he sat down.

Mr Hargreaves sat in his large green, leather chair across a desk opposite from Ryan and leant back, "So lad, what was it you wanted to discuss?"

Ryan coughed uncomfortably, "Sir, I've known your daughter for a long time now..."

"Yes, must be going on for, what? Ten years?"

"Eleven, sir," he corrected him and coughed again, a bit unsure if he'd chosen the right words when he'd rehearsed this speech earlier, "I've grown very fond of your daughter, sir, and although I've never been one for traditions in the past I feel a need to follow them now,"

Mr Hargreaves gave Ryan a hard look, "Well come on boy, out with it,"

Ryan gulped before continuing and took a final drag on his cigarette before putting it out, "Mr Hargreaves, I'd like to ask you for your daughter's hand in marriage today."

Both of the men were silent for a moment as the words sank in.

"I see," Mr Hargreaves said at last, "Tell me, boy. What prospects can you offer my daughter?"

"Sir?" He wasn't sure if he'd understood the question.

"What can you give her, in terms of stability, financial protection, a home, and all the others things that a young woman of her social status would require? How do you intend to keep her, boy?"

"I won't lie to you sir, I don't have much but I love Charlotte very much and everything I have will be hers, it's not a lot but it's all I have."

"My dear boy, Lottie is simply out of your league," he laughed, "She is a young lady of luxury, she should be kept as such, not kept as a housewife in a simple blacksmiths shack. This is why I'm having her marry Gerald when she reaches nineteen."

Ryan shot up to his feet in anger, "Gerald? Her cousin?"

James now stood up to confront him head on, "This has been the arrangement for years, it was always going to happen. My brother's son would marry my daughter. My nephew is heir to the family's fortune and business. _You_ on the other hand, are nothing but 'hooker's spawn'. I won't allow you to corrupt my daughter's future,"

It had been years since anyone had referred to him in that way and the words stung, especially coming from this man who knew him, but he was not that easily knocked down now, "You may have your issues with me and my upbringing James, but why can't you think of what your daughter wants. Gerald is a drinker and a philanderer and you know it." Her cousin's escapades to the local brothels were common knowledge among many by this point.

"It's Lottie's welfare I'm concerned about, boy. I'll admit that you've been a close and very dear friend to her over the years, but you are simply not marriage material. It is simple logic, Gerald, despite his obvious flaws can look after her much better than you can," it burned him inside to admit it, but Ryan knew that the old bastard was right. He could never provide for her the way Gerald could, but Gerald didn't love her... He did. "I suggest you leave now, boy. I would recommend that you don't affiliate yourself with Lottie ever again if you know what's good for you." James reached for his cane and gripped it tightly, the message was clear.

Ryan left, slamming the study door behind him. He stormed across the hall, anger clouding everything in front of him. He had to get out of here.

He walked for a while, not caring particularly where he was going, just so long as he was away from that place, he needed time to think. He reached the bridge that ran across the stream and walked down the steps to the water; he took a seat on the bottom ones and in his frustration lit a cigarette which he violently breathed in.

He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been to even think her father would consider such a preposterous notion. His daughter, marrying hooker's spawn like himself with no prospects... He chewed the skin on his thumb for a while and then noticed his cigarette had gone out, he reached for his matches and his hand brushed against another box in his pocket. He took it out and looked at it for a moment, in a fit of rage he then threw it and watched as it landed on the other side of the stream.

"Ryan?"

He knew that voice, "What are you doing here?" he asked her without even turning.

She descended the steps and came to sit by him, noticing that he turned his head away from her, "I was going to ask you the same thing. You ran off so quickly, what happened?"

He sighed, "I don't think we should see each other anymore,"

She laughed, "What are you saying?" she saw how serious he was and she suddenly grew rather angry, "What did Daddy say?" she asked accusingly.

"I... I asked him something. Something very important; but he wasn't too pleased with my request..."

"Oh Ryan," she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, "If there's anything you want you only have to ask me, not Daddy."

"I _really_ needed your father's permission for this though,"

"No you don't, why don't you ask me? I might be more accommodating if I can."

Ryan finished his cigarette and stubbed it out underfoot, he supposed there was no harm in telling her, his heart had already been shot down once, at least he'd have had the dignity to ask Charlotte as well.

_What am I doing? She's never going to accept me... She's got Gerald; and his wealth…_

He couldn't believe he was doing it, but he stood up and took her hands in his to make her stand too, "Charlotte, sweetheart, I can't give you much, I've _never_ been able to give you much when you've been so generous to me," he took a deep breath and squeezed her fingers, "But despite this, I can promise you one thing above all else; I've loved you for so long, and I will love you more than any other man possibly could," Now he bent down before her, traditionally kneeling on one knee, "Charlotte, will you marry me?"

There was no going back now, his eyes pleaded with her for a reaction.

"Ryan... This is so unexpected..."

He sighed, stood up and walked past her, "I should've expected that,"

"Ryan, wait!" she called after him, "Yes!"

He stopped in his tracks, eyes wide with shock and he turned.

"What did you say?"

She was crying, but smiling too, "I said yes. I'll marry you,"

"My God, you mean it? You really mean it?"

"Of course I mean it, I love you too," Ryan was speechless; had she meant it, had she really just responded with the words his heart had longed to hear from her for so long? "Please say something..." she pleaded, it was only then that Ryan realised he'd been silent for a long time.

He walked back to her, took her face in his hands, leant down and kissed her on the lips for the first time... There was no need for words at a time like this. The kiss was deep and full of the passion they'd been holding back from for years, they clung to each other as if their hearts would stop beating if they parted but nothing lasts forever and the kiss did end eventually.

Charlotte breathed as if the air had left her lungs, she was flushed and felt faint, "I've wanted you to do that for so long,"

Ryan laughed at her reaction but his demeanour quickly became serious, "Your father..."

"To Hell with Daddy and his plans for my future, it's you I want."

"You knew? About Gerald, I mean?"

"Of course I knew, I've known what the plan was most of my life. But it's never been what I wanted, it's what Daddy's wanted, and what Gerald has wanted. You're all I've ever wanted, as a friend and more,"

They kissed again, several smaller kisses this time but still filled with passion.

"Then we only have one choice, we have to leave," Ryan told her, she nodded, keeping her eyes closed as she listened, "We'll leave, and we'll be married,"

"When?" the desperation for him was evident in her voice.

"Tonight,"

"Tonight? But, there's so much to be organised; a priest, a venue, witnesses..."

"Sweetheart, leave that to me. I know just the person,"

"Then I'll need to pack if we're eloping together and money..." So much to think about but no time at all to think, "I'll head home and pack my things. I'll bring as much money as I can carry,"

"Alright then, I'll meet you at 6'o'clock outside your house, give me a signal when you're ready," he handed her his box of matches and then brought her close to share a very deep kiss, when they stopped they were both breathing heavily. Ryan stroked her cheek, "Go home before your father realises you've gone. I'll come and get you this evening."

Charlotte quickly gave him another kiss and then ran home. When she was out of sight Ryan ran across the bridge to the other side of the stream and retrieved the box he'd thrown earlier, then without caring about how he looked he sprinted down the street to the one person he knew would help them.


	6. Afraid You Might Wake To See

Hidden by the shadows of night, Ryan waited for her to arrive. He'd managed to arrange everything despite the rush, everything was ready. All that was missing was the bride-to-be.

It had taken her longer than expected but she was ready now and threw her carry bag out of the window to the ground below then she climbed out and descended the trellis as she'd done so many times before so she could meet him, only this time she had no intentions of coming back. Charlotte had dared not leave any evidence of where she'd gone, not even a goodbye note to her father, she knew him too well, if he had even the slightest inkling of suspicion to her whereabouts he would come after her and bring her back; after the way he'd acted today, the things he'd said, she did not want that.

She knew this was a tough decision, but it would mean the difference between being with Ryan or not and there was no choice in the matter as far as she was concerned. This was about love, she loved him, she'd known it for years and made it so obvious to him; now they had a chance that not many people ever had an opportunity to take.

She signalled for a coach as it was passing and swiftly got in, lighting a match as she did, giving her soon to be husband the prearranged signal.

They arrived at the church and made it through the doors just as it started to rain. Charlotte began taking off her long, black coat but stopped when she noticed the warm lighting around her. Every candle in there had been lit, giving the whole church a wonderful glow.

Ryan wiped his eyes of rainwater and looked at her. Her hair was wet and unstyled in her haste, but she looked so beautiful still.

At the end of the aisle stood Father McGuire who beckoned them both forward, in his hands he held his bible, and sitting in the stools was Jeremy Anderson.

Ryan stepped forward but stopped when he noticed Charlotte hadn't moved.

"Are you alright?"

"... Yes... You did this?"

"With help. Let me take your coat sweetheart," She smiled at him and finished unbuttoning it. She hadn't said anything to him about getting changed and it came as shock to him to see the white lace and silk she was wearing, "Where did you manage to get that?" he asked, flabbergasted at how lovely she looked in this wonderful dress. The lace sleeves went down to her wrists and the back of the skirt was gathered in a descending waterfall of silk.

"It was my mother's wedding dress," she replied, "It seemed appropriate."

He turned to face her with a serious look in his eyes, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"My family will think me damned for doing this, but Ryan, I'd rather be damned with you than not be with you at all."

That was all the answer he needed from her, and with that he led her down the aisle.

It had been some time since Father McGuire had conducted a wedding, especially one he felt was done out of love, he'd seen many that were simply done out of 'duty' as it was called. This made a pleasant change, and although he knew Ryan's terrible secret, he was also well aware of his deep love for the young girl he'd brought here. He'd been most distraught when the priest had asked him whether the victim in question was Charlotte, it had only been a moments anger but it was enough to convince him that Ryan could not possibly ever mean her any harm.

The ceremony was simple; Ryan held her hands as Father McGuire read the passages, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony…"

As the minister continued talking Charlotte looked at Ryan. How was it possible that she had found herself in such a situation? The idea of her wedding day had sent unpleasant chills through her body for as long as she could remember, the image of her standing by Gerald's side at the altar had haunted her dreams. Now she found herself before Almighty God, a runaway bride, marrying the man she had loved as a friend for so many years, and had loved on a whole other level since that unsettling night he crawled through her window covered in blood.

"Into this holy estate, these two persons present come now to be joined…"

In a state of pure adoration, she had protected him in that darkest moment at the expense of her own health; she'd dared not tell anyone of the chills and exhaustion she'd been suffering with since her foot was cut in the dirty mud of the River Thames, it would only lead to questions.

Outside the rain beat down harder, and a rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance, but it hardly impacted on the dense walls of the church.

"If any man can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him speak, or else hereafter forever hold his piece…"

A tense silence fell on everyone for a moment. Ryan took a deep breath, praying that God himself wouldn't appear now to stop this.

Everyone present held their tongues save for Jeremy who to this day was oblivious to the incident.

In Father McGuire's opinion, Ryan's soul had been cleansed by his confession; he had been given absolution and was forgiven for his sins. So the secret was held tightly to the chests of those who knew and those who suspected.

"Ryan, wilt thou take this woman to be thy wedded wife?" Ryan turned to face his wet but smiling bride, "Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Ryan still couldn't believe he was here with her doing this when not three hours ago he had still been debating whether he was even going to propose, he smiled thinking about how nervous he'd been about asking her. She was here now, with him, to be his alone, his angel sent by God, "I will," he replied softly.

"Charlotte, wilt thou take this man to be thy husband?..." It wasn't the wedding she'd had in mind, devoid of her family and all the other things one considers important on a day like today, but suddenly those things seemed very trivial, all she needed on this day was Ryan, with his wet hair and his smile which hid a secret mischievousness and the words the priest said now, "… keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will,"

"Ryan, you have the ring?" the minister asked.

Ryan reached into his pocket and removed the mahogany box he'd coveted for most the day, Charlotte could barely contain her excitement as she watched him open it to reveal a plain golden ring with a small but very well placed diamond set into the band, "But... how did you manage?"

He smiled at her as he held her hand, "I've been working for nine years, girl. Where do you think the money went?" She laughed, it had never even occurred to her.

Father McGuire smiled before he resumed, "Ryan, will you repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed,"

"With this ring, I thee wed,"

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

"In the name," Ryan took her fourth finger on her left hand and slid the ring onto it, "Of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." He took a deep breath and smiled at her.

"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. I now pronounce that they, Ryan and Charlotte are man and wife." Father McGuire closed his Bible and gave a nod to both of them.

Ryan encircled his young wife with his arms and brought her close to him, they kissed deeply. It was done, it was final. Only a few hours before, they had been good friends, each harbouring a desire they dare not tell the other, they had been the best of friends, without bias for the others background, for eleven years they had known each other as friend... Now they would be known as husband and wife.

Charlotte trembled, not from the chills she often felt but from a very different sensation, one that made her feel warm inside.

"I can't believe we've done this," Charlotte said once they'd finished kissing. She smiled a wide tooth filled smile at Ryan, "Why didn't we decide to do this years ago? I could've saved myself a lot of worry."

Jeremy Anderson stood, nodding to the young couple as he approached the altar, it was his responsibility to sign the marriage certificate as a witness; with his signature in place he approached Ryan and Charlotte, "Listen lad, I promise I won't tell the young lady's father if he comes calling, but if the police show up... I wouldn't want to get into unnecessary trouble."

Ryan sighed, "I understand, Jeremy, let's just hope it doesn't come to that. Thank you for attending,"

"T'was nothing, lad. Not much else I could've done really, but I know what I see and today I see two people who deserve one another, and with that I'll leave you to your lives." Jeremy left quickly, buttoning his coat and placing his hat on his head in the hope of avoiding as much rain as possible.

Ryan and Charlotte turned to leave as well.

"My children," Father McGuire called to them, "It isn't my business, but do you have a place to go tonight?" Charlotte looked at Ryan who looked back at her, in the haste they hadn't even given it a moment's thought. Father McGuire smiled, "I'll assume that means you don't. In which case, let an old minister be charitable on a young couple's wedding night. You may use the rectory tonight; I have friends I can stay with,"

Charlotte ran to the minister and embraced him which came as a surprise and she started to cry, he smiled and gave her a reassuring pat on the back, "Thank you so much Father, you've done so much, please let me make a donation to the Church."

"No child, as generous as your nature is, you and your husband need that money now."

He encouraged her back to the arms of her new husband and led them to the rectory, locking the church behind him.

It started with passionate kisses and gentle nips on her lips, jaw line and neck as he held her against his bare chest. She let him do these things to her for she had no idea what she should do. It seemed obvious that he had been with women, being as he was so sought after by them so she let him do as he wished.

The rain beat down on the window, it was beginning to develop into quite a storm outside but right now nothing was going to interrupt this moment.

His hands slid behind her and began to unbutton the tiny catches that held her wedding dress in place, his lips barely left hers as the silk and lace began to come away from her pale flesh.

She tensed up as the dress began to fall, he slipped it off her shoulders and slid it down her arms exposing her corseted chest to him. She covered herself with her arms to protect her modesty.

"Charlotte?" he asked, concerned by her reaction.

"I... I don't know what I'm doing,"

He smiled at her and kissed her gently, "Do you want me to show you?"

She nodded.

He took her shoulders and turned her around so her back pressed against his chest, he smothered his face in her hair and held her tightly, cupping one of her small breasts while his other hand slid down, pushing the fabric of her white wedding dress down with it. He gently bit her neck, tender love nips which made her squirm in excitement as his hand went lower to the place she felt warm and tingly.

He pressed himself against her as she trembled; her little shudders exhilarated him, as did the tiny gasps she made when he touched her. A tone in her voice told him she was scared… and this only excited him more.

Ever since knowing the pleasures of a woman he had dreamt of this moment, many of the fantasies in his mind replayed for him as he felt her against him; was it too much, too soon to ask her to fulfil them?

Ryan lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, lying her down gently and placed himself above her.

How long had he waited for this? How long had he even been aware that he loved her beyond all measure? He couldn't remember anymore, and didn't particularly care much now he had her here as he pressed himself against her.

A tiny scream came from her lips as he felt him and Ryan trembled in excitement at hearing it; he battled against the little voice in his head telling him to use more force, but she felt so good, so tight, he could barely contain himself as his movements became more rhythmic.

Charlotte gripped his shoulders and dug her nails into his flesh, she moaned in time with his movements, it hurt, but at the same time it didn't.

_I love you, Ryan... _she thought as she pressed harder.

_Oh God... She's mine... All mine..._ He sat up to look at her and pushed his hair from his face, a small growl escaped him,_ I love you... Let me show you, how much I love you..._

He took hold of her arms and pulled her up to him, he placed his arms around her, making her move in fluid motions against him.

"Charlotte, if I asked you to do something for me…" he took a sharp intake of breath as he moved, "Would you do it?"

She moaned and leant closer to him, her lips brushed against his softly, "I'll do anything you ask."

He hoped she meant it as his loins trembled, his hands began moving from her back and he placed them around her throat, "Fight me," he whispered.

"What?"

He shushed her lovingly and stroked the skin on her neck, "Don't be scared, I promise I won't hurt you… please… fight me."

It seemed like an odd request but one that she was prepared to oblige with, she just needed to know one thing, "But why would I fight you?"

He closed his eyes and kissed her as his grip around her slender throat tightened, "It would please me to hear you scream."

That was all she needed. She'd spent most her life trying to please him, to make him happy and tonight as she gave her body to him for the first of many times she would not make an exception. She moved her arms down between them and began to gently push him away but he easily pulled her back with a smile, "You'll have to do better than that, sweetheart." His hips ground into her again more forcefully and this time she pushed him with more effort. Ryan growled excitedly as his movements grew quicker which hurt her; her moans became more frantic and she gasped as he increased the pressure on her throat. She pushed against him, tried to take his hands away from her neck, but he only gripped tighter. The look in his eyes was one of uncontrollable lust as he grunted and moved with more aggression within her.

He couldn't understand his own motives, he only knew that it felt good to have her struggle. It brought with it a feeling of dominance and power over her. She was his, to do with as he pleased… But he loved her, he dare not hurt her, not after the sacrifices and the lengths she had gone to, to help him, to make him happy... to be with him.

Charlotte screamed, or at least tried to but the pressure of his hands on her throat was intense now. This sound brought Ryan back to reality and he watched as her eyes pleaded with him for breath, but it felt too good. He remembered the whore he'd been with, remembered how he'd wished it was Charlotte, even as she'd screamed. Ryan clenched his teeth, holding himself back for another minute, he removed one hand from her neck and gripped her hair tightly while the other hand still pressed firmly on her windpipe, "Beg me to stop," he ordered.

He released his grip ever so slightly, just enough to allow a single intake of breath, "Please Ryan, you're hurting me,"

The strain in her voice struck him as did the words she'd used, but it wasn't enough, "Beg me,"

Tears began to well in her eyes, "Please, Ryan… Please stop!" she pushed against him, much harder this time as he choked her.

_Oh God, yes!_ He moved hard and quick within her, bringing himself to fulfilment. He reached his peak with a cry and released her throat to bring her close to him… It was only then that he realised what he'd done, what he'd _almost_ done… "Oh God, are you alright? Charlotte, sweetheart?" her eyes were closed and her body suddenly very limp, but she was breathing and her eyelids fluttered after a few deep breaths entered her oxygen starved lungs. She looked at him as he held her in his arms, "My God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean… I never meant… Why are you smiling?"

She _was_ smiling, a small smile but a smile none-the-less, "Because I trust you," was the very simple reply she gave him when she was able to.

Ryan could hardly believe what she'd just said but he smiled back at her, then he kissed her.

Charlotte felt complete with him, in the knowledge that she could officially stay in his arms forever and be his... If truth be told, it had hurt, it had been scary, but having him choke her to near unconsciousness while he took her by force was still better than she could ever have imagined this would feel.

They held each other in bed, as the thunder continued to rumble outside and the rain crashed against the window pane. They held each other as the candle by the bedside burnt itself out.

Tomorrow they would leave this place, tomorrow was a new day, and they would go as man and wife... As Charlotte finally fell asleep, she shivered in response to an icy chill that shot through her...


	7. Too Scared To Hold Your Hand

They left before the sun rose and made their way across London by foot. Charlotte concealed her face by buttoning her coat up high and wearing a hat. Ryan simply kept his head down with his long hair covering his features.

It occurred to Charlotte that catching a train would be an easier method, but Ryan refused outright, he'd never felt entirely comfortable by the idea of trains, especially the underground railway system.

"It's perfectly safe," she assured him, having ridden the on underground several times.

"To be quite honest, my dear I don't care. The day you get me on one of those things will be a cold day in Hell."

They had no real idea where they were going, but kept walking anyway. Charlotte clutched the bag that held everything she'd managed to grab in the short time close to her, but it was heavy and her boots were starting to hurt her from the pace and distance they'd crossed. She stopped and leant against the brick wall of an alley, but when she saw Ryan do the same and then slide down the wall to the ground with his head in his hands she forgot about her feet, "Are you alright?"

"… Dizzy…" was all he managed to say.

"When was the last time you ate something?"

"…Um… yesterday… before I met you,"

Charlotte sighed at him, took his hand and led him wearily into the next bakery they passed, "You're not going to be much of a husband if you die of starvation are you?" He didn't object as she brought him a particularly nice looking Danish pastry and some tea for both of them.

"You're an angel," he told her as they sat down to eat, he took a cigarette from his silver holder and lit it, he admired the case for little while remembering the night Charlotte had given it to him; he hoped that one day he might be able to have it engraved further perhaps with her name on the inside.

"No, I'm your wife, it's my job to take care of you," she smiled.

"I thought it was _my_ job to take care of _you_," he replied as he took her hand across the table and stroked her wedding ring.

They chatted for a while about silly things, just like they always had done. Charlotte occasionally reached across the table to take his cigarette for herself a moment before giving it back to him. Nothing had changed, nothing was different which relieved both of them, especially Ryan who had been worried about how she would be after he had done… _that_ to her last night.

When the conversation turned to the future they decided the best option was to head towards Camden Town which had in recent decades become a haven of sort for the Irish immigrants who had fled the potato famine and the English oppression of their culture. It would be an ideal place for them to disappear together amidst the thriving industrial trade, helped by the fact that Camden Town offered a Stables Market; an apprentice blacksmith like Ryan might find himself a good job with his skills.

Camden Town bustled as expected and was as Irish as anticipated. Ryan held Charlotte's hand as he led the way.

They took a detour down a quieter side street while they got their bearings. Luckily, Charlotte had the foresight to bring a map with her when she'd left her home.

"I think if we just keeping heading on, we should come to the lock and then we go over that and head down to Chalk Farm Road, the Stable Market should be along there somewhere,"

Ryan inhaled on his cigarette as he studied the map with her, "Fair enough," he said.

They didn't notice how three men spotted them; a young couple together with a map marked them as obvious newcomers.

Ryan looked up as he heard them advance. He was familiar with the body language they showed, they meant trouble. He grabbed Charlotte's arm and placed her swiftly behind him, she clutched her bag tightly and held his hand.

"Oi, mate. You look a bit lost!" the man in front said, he had an obvious cockney accent, he was unshaven and wore a mucky looking flat cap, his 'boys' behind him had a very similar look to them.

"We're fine," Ryan replied keeping his tone strong but calm, "We're just passing through,"

"No, no, me old son, we should offer some assistance to strangers, especially when there's a pretty young lass involved," he smiled evilly.

Charlotte gulped, "Ryan?..."

"Just stay behind me."

"Pretty bird ain't she?" One of them said, "I bet she fucks good," the others laughed and jeered as they got closer, the man at the front clenched his fists.

Ryan backed up, pushing Charlotte further down the street. He reached for his pocket knife.

"I'm scared,"

"Just stay back there, sweetheart," Ryan reassured her. He stared at the three men who advanced on them, his eyes burned.

He did not spot the smaller figure that snuck up behind them.

Charlotte screamed as she was grabbed from behind, Ryan spun round to see a short, filthy woman holding Charlotte with her arm around her throat and a knife precariously close to his wife's eye.

"Well, well looks like we've struck it lucky haven't we boys?"

Ryan's eyes burned with fury now at seeing Charlotte being handled, "Let her go," he ordered. The woman laughed at him, "I said, let her go!" in his pocket Ryan exposed the blade of his pocket knife.

"Oh look chaps, I think he's jealous of a little competition."

Charlotte's eyes screamed what how mouth refused to. She dare not struggle with that knife so close to her face.

The woman suddenly pointed the knife at Ryan and spoke to the men behind him, "Take him, do whatever you want, then you can have this one after I've finished with her, I think you'll like this one, she's a posh bird,"

Charlotte took the opportunity, "You picked the wrong person to threaten from behind," she threatened. With all her might she threw her elbows backwards into the ribs of the assailant who held her. The knife dropped to the ground and Charlotte spun round to face her opponent.

The men watched flabbergasted as the young girl attacked. Ryan stole his chance. He lashed at the man in front, slicing his face with the knife.

"Argh! Fuck!" Blood spewed out of the wound and left a gash down the man's face almost from ear to lip.

The other two backed up; obviously they had not been expecting a real fight.

Charlotte grabbed her bag and swung it upwards, catching the woman on the chin. Her head flew back and hit the wall which stunned her. Charlotte dropped the bag, pushed her against the wall and then sharply raised her knee up to her attacker's groin.

The cry surprised everyone and they turned to see the woman fall to the ground, writhing in agony.

One of the men made to run towards Charlotte, but Ryan caught him as he ran past. He recognised him as the one who'd said she would be good fuck.

Charlotte kicked her fallen adversary in the side, "Daddy always said, it doesn't matter if they're male or female, one swift knee and they'll drop like everyone else," The woman crawled to her comrades.

Ryan still held the man he'd caught in a tight grip, his fist tightened around the knife, "She's mine… you can't have her." With that he drove the blade into the man's side, once, twice, a third time; he laughed as he twisted the blade. A voice called to him but he couldn't hear it properly not over the sound of his heart pumping and his increasingly manic laughter.

"Ryan, stop!" He heard her now and looked up. Charlotte stared at him with fear in her blue eyes as she watched him.

_No, she mustn't see me… like this…_ He discarded himself of the villain. The wounds were well placed, he would survive the stabs, but perhaps not the guaranteed infection they would bring. Scum like that did not call on doctors, for they would ask too many questions. The group collected themselves and scarpered. Despite the commotion, no bystanders had been alerted by the sounds, no one had come to help. Perhaps this was too frequent an occurrence or perhaps everyone just kept themselves to themselves.

Blood slipped down from the blade he held, his head was down and he breathed heavily. Ryan slowly lifted his head to look at Charlotte... that look was still there, that scared, trembling little girl… that look was alluring, it suited her. Adrenaline pumped through his veins... and testosterone along with it. He smiled at her, walked towards her, took her hand, "Come with me," he dragged her around the corner and pushed her to the wall.

"Ryan, what are you-?"

He shushed her as he pushed his body against hers and kissed her roughly. Charlotte was baffled, "Ryan!" she objected.

This time Ryan placed his hand over her mouth to stop her from talking and gave her a look of pure passion, "Don't speak, Charlotte..." he whispered as he began lifting her layers of skirts, "Just fuck me,"

This time the fight was genuine as she tried to push him away, but he placed his body between her legs to stop her kicking. Her scream was real as he forced himself inside her but the sound was muffled by his hand over her mouth. He held her firmly against the wall as he thrusted; her screams came in time with them sounding like high pitched moans.

"You're mine, my angel… no one else's," he whispered as he climaxed quickly within her. Only then did Ryan release his hold of her and back away.

Charlotte stepped forward, unable to say anything almost like she were in a trance, she pushed her skirts down tenderly as if doing so quicker would cause her pain. She looked at him, straight at him, and then she did something she never thought she'd ever do to him. She smacked him hard across the face. She held back tears as she finally spoke, "What the Hell is wrong with you?" she felt violated by her own husband, the man she loved unquestionably, the man she'd run away with.

Ryan rubbed his cheek where she'd hit him, quite unable to comprehend that she had even done it, but she was right, _What the Hell _is_ wrong with me? _He looked at her and saw the same worried yet angry expression she'd given him when he was eighteen again, "Please don't look at me like that, Charlotte," he tried to embrace her but she pushed his arms away.

"What am I to you? Some kind of possession?"

"No. No, you're my angel, I love you. I don't want to lose you or hurt you; no one should hurt you,"

"Then why do you insist on doing so?" her tears finally broke through their barrier. She looked away, not wanting him to see her cry.

He took her face in his hands and made her look at him, "Because I love you so much… I don't want to hurt you, but you drive me wild. I want you. I need you. My actions reflect my love for you, my desire to have you,"

Charlotte couldn't help what she said next and would never be able to tell whether the words stung him more or her, "You… raped me…"

Ryan nearly doubled over. It was true, oh God it was true, he had. It was disguised as passion, as a fetish almost, but the night before she had been willing, but this time... he'd raped her, he'd raped her, raped his own wife in a filthy alley, covering her mouth to keep her silent, "Oh God," Ryan fell to his knees, his hands still held her, he held her waist tightly and pushed his head against her stomach, "Please forgive me, I'm sorry, I need help, please forgive me,"

Here he was again, the helpless boy she'd been friends with most of her life, the young man she'd fallen in love with who needed her, the husband she'd married, the man who needed her and loved her more than any man ever could. There was only one way she could think to help him and make him happy, "Ryan, I love you," she took his hands from around her and bent down to his level, "Let me help,"

"How?"

"You can use me, darling; you can do anything you want to me. I'll fight you; I'll do anything for you, but only with my permission," Ryan gazed up to look at her, she always told him the truth, he trusted her entirely, "We'll control it together. That is how I'll help you,"

Ryan was quiet for a while as he took on board her proposal. Was this really what he hoped for when he'd gained the courage to ask her father for her hand in marriage? He hadn't wanted to do this, not to her, not to his precious Charlotte, but surely if it was that simple then he wouldn't be doing this anyway, he wouldn't ask her to fight him if it was simple, "You're too good for me."

"We'll talk about it later, let's go while it's still daylight."

Charlotte adjusted her clothing and smoothed her hair. She was damned if she was going to walk about like some common whore who'd just earned a shilling in an alleyway. She grabbed her bag and turned to face Ryan who had lit himself another cigarette, she took it from him, "I think you'll find that you owe me this one," she said as she inhaled, she smiled at him sweetly, "Nothing changes?"

"Only one thing," he responded as he took a new cigarette from the holder for himself, "I love you more," she took his hand in hers and shivered, Ryan noticed her shiver, "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"Yes," she answered, "I'm just a little cold."

Ryan did find work at the Stables Market and the owner offered them both the use of a small property he also owned, it had belonged to the previous worker, who had died of TB earlier that year.

It was only a small place, but it was a roof over their heads and Charlotte beamed with joy at the knowledge of having her own little place, a marital home.

They had made it to this place together. They had married and run away successfully, and so in traditional manner, Ryan carried his wife across the threshold and immediately up to the bedroom, where with Charlotte's tender patience he learnt some restraint over the next coming weeks.

It was hard... violence had always had a place side by side with sex to him, ever since his childhood, seeing his mother beaten by her clients after and sometimes _during_ the act. His first experience of sex still haunted him but at the same time had been the first step towards becoming who he was now, it was his defining moment, it was in that moment he had shown his true nature, and proved to himself just how much he loved Charlotte and despised all other women who weren't her.

How could violence and sex not be connected, when this was all he'd ever known?

Charlotte let him dominate her entirely in this respect, let him do what he wanted to her at the expense of her body, accepted his orders when he asked her to do things she hadn't even realised a man and woman could do together. All the while she kept pulling him back from this irrational violence by being tender with him, kissing him gently, and stroking his hair to calm him. It did little to alleviate his sexual tendencies, but at least she trusted him not to do anything against her will entirely. His methods were extreme, but Charlotte began to find herself growing accustomed to them and started to even enjoy the force he used. It was simply of good fortune that the fashions of the era called for women to be mostly covered, and high necked collars or scarves were at the height of fashion... These allowed for her to hide the ever growing amount of bruises, cuts and deep bite marks he had riddled her body with. He enjoyed biting her shoulders, hard. Too hard at times, the bruises were deep blue and purple where the vessels had burst. He tore at her flesh with his teeth to the point that she bled profusely, but she let him continue... and he relished in her submission to him, oh how he wanted to take it further, but there was something to her voice that always told him when it was too much, and it took all his energy to stop from going further.

Away from the bedroom, they acted as they always had, the best of friends, and now they were free to walk around holding hands in public without the scandalous looks and disapproving tuts.

Unfortunately though, these idyllic times were not to last forever.

It was not long into their marriage that a worrying thing began. Ryan awoke one night to the sound of Charlotte vomiting violently.

Full of concern he went to her and helped her back to bed.

This was strange, she hadn't felt unwell earlier, she'd just woken up with an unrelenting urge to be sick.

The nausea did not leave Charlotte and seemed only to be getting more frequent over the next few days; her appetite was gone for the things she once enjoyed. The colour began to drain from her face during the day and at times she felt faint.

Ryan thought it best to keep her rested in bed, but she was restless with chills and the urge to vomit nearly constantly. It seemed strange to him that with her severe symptoms he had not come down with the same condition.

After a week of worry on his part, and what seemed like a long time watching his new wife waste away, he finally decided to call for a doctor.

Ryan stood outside the bedroom dreading the worst. He didn't like doctors, didn't trust them in the slightest, but if Charlotte was ill then there was nothing he could do for her alone.

He'd noticed her shivers, why had he waited three months to do something about it?

He paced back and forth, already on his third cigarette; what was taking so long? What was wrong with her? He bit his finger nails in frustration, what if it was something terrible, like tuberculosis or cholera, what if it was terminal? Oh God, what if it was something _he_ had done to her? Had he hit her too hard? Had he infected her with his biting?

The door opened a bit and the doctor stepped out with his head still in the room, "Just get some rest Mrs. Kuhn, I'll be back to monitor your progress another day."

Ryan stood and looked at the doctor in dismay, "How is she?"

The doctor, who was a mature, stout man removed his stethoscope and placed it back in his black briefcase, "Well Mr. Kuhn, she has an infection of the blood stream, septicaemia to be precise, most likely attributed to a cut or gaze she received some time ago that she explained to me," Ryan suddenly felt very cold, sepsis had claimed the lives of several people he knew growing up, it was not a easy death, nor a pleasant one to look upon, if there ever was such a thing, "However this is only a mild form of the disease and with the recent advances in modern medicine, I'm pleased to say that your wife will recover and be in very good health," relief shot through Ryan, "And you'll also be happy to know the same applies to the baby."

Ryan stepped back, "What?"

The doctor looked at him, "The baby… oh, you didn't know? Your wife is pregnant, sir."

He stumbled and nearly fell but supported himself on the chair, "She's pregnant?"

"Yes, I'd hazard a guess at three months gone so far."

Ryan suddenly felt very dizzy and unstable, "Oh God… I… I need to sit down."

The doctor laughed at the response, "I see a lot of that," he chuckled.

A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind but none that he could hold on to for very long, "You're sure? There's no mistake?"

"Believe me, Mr Kuhn, if your wife's pregnancy is without complications you will have a healthy baby in about six months time. I would stake my reputation on it. The symptoms she's presenting with are very normal in these circumstances."

Ryan took a deep breath and steadied himself as he got up, "Can I see her?"

"Of course. I'll leave you both to it then. I'll be back in about a week or so to monitor her. Just make sure she keeps taking the antibiotics I've prescribed and both her and baby will be fine."

Ryan entered the bedroom and Charlotte looked at him with very worried eyes, she bit her lip, he noticed that her hands were placed firmly on her abdomen, "Are you mad at me?" she asked very tenderly.

"Are you serious?" he smiled, "Mad at you? Why on Earth would I be mad at you? You're wonderful!" he was crying now and walked towards her, he sat on the side of the bed and embraced her tightly, kissing her cheek, taking her face in his hands and kissed her lips, "You… You are everything to me… but now, now you're so much more than that."

"Really? This is what you want?" It had been a surprise when the doctor had told her, but a happy one but she'd feared his reaction until now.

"Sweetheart, you've given me so much but this all I've _ever _wanted, I've finally been able to give something to you, my angel."

A month passed and gradually Charlotte's body began to change, a petite bump appeared on her stomach that Ryan was convinced seemed to get bigger every day. She constantly had her hands there, rubbing the skin and patting the bump as the child within grew bigger. She glowed in her pregnancy once the sickness had left her, and Ryan found it hard to keep himself from cuddling her and stroking the bump. She was two people now, two people he loved dearly and one of them he hadn't even met yet.

Charlotte quickly became convinced that it was a boy she was carrying although there was no real way of telling.

Times were hard, but they had each other and the arrival of a child to look forward to, Charlotte could not have wanted more, it wasn't the finery she was used to but instead it was a preciousness she had yet to touch, yet to hold and it was all she had ever wanted.

Ryan had never known such family before in his life and this would only make them complete when the child came. He felt ready for that, ready to provide for his wife and the child he had given her. Her reaction astounded him; his only experiences of pregnant women in the past were the whores his mother worked with; the same ones who would have that 'doctor' terminate the pregnancy. But Charlotte was happy; he'd never seen that before.

So precious was this to them, that any use of force in their lovemaking was immediately brought to a halt. A pleasant surprise for Charlotte but a hard thing for Ryan to stop, but to him it seemed an appropriate sacrifice; once the child was here he would resume his preferred methods…_ Besides_, he kept telling himself; _absence makes the heart grow fonder._

Charlotte made her way through the streets, having just bought some tobacco for Ryan and a few necessary essentials. It wasn't yet late but the sky was cloudy and promised a heavy rainstorm so it was probably best if she made her way home now. Her coat was done up half way to allow room for her bump which she patted gently as she walked.

She stopped suddenly though as she felt an unpleasant chill, it wasn't the same kind of feeling the infection had given her; it was something else, a deeper discomfort. She turned to look through the crowd. It felt as if someone was watching her, but no one seemed to be obviously looking at her, _How odd,_ she kept walking with one hand placed over her bump protectively. But however hard she tried she could not shake the feeling of being followed, it was unsettling because in a very strange way it felt awfully familiar.

Once she was home she locked the door behind her and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Her hands were shaking as Ryan approached her.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought someone was following me, but it must've been my imagination, perhaps I've been pushing myself too hard."

Ryan didn't like it. This wasn't exactly the first time she'd been followed. He walked towards the door but Charlotte stood in his way, "Please don't!" she begged him.

He had become used to a feeling of paranoia in his gut over the last few months but this was different, Charlotte wasn't one for that sort of anxiety.

"Go upstairs and stay there until I say otherwise,"

"But, what are you going to do?"

"I'm just going to stay here for a while,"

She hesitated only for a moment, and took off her coat before she walked to the stairs. As she came past Ryan he stroked her abdomen reassuringly and kissed the side of her head, "Just remember, don't come down until I say so," she nodded at him.

Charlotte made it to the top of the stairs, and then into the bedroom but an unsettling aroma struck her in there. It was strong and pungent and reminded her of a hospital. She held her bump with both hands as that cold chill ran up her spine, unaware that she was not alone in the room until it was too late.

Ryan felt groggy as he pushed himself up from the floor, his mouth bled and his head hurt like Hell. He remembered little of what had actually happened, but recalled a struggle and the pain on the back of his head was evidence of him being struck from behind by something. He winced at a sharp pain in his ribs as he moved and called to Charlotte, she did not answer him. He called again. Nothing.

Oh God, he staggered to his feet, supporting himself on the wall and clutching his side, he wiped the blood from his lip. Ryan called for her again, panic gripping his chest as he searched the rooms. Upon reaching the bedroom, he noticed the smell first, a smell he recognised, a nostalgic, childhood smell... chloroform. But that was an expensive drug, not usually carried by the poor; it was carried by doctors, or even men who had money enough to frequent brothels... But who would...?

A flash of memory revealed itself to him through the haze, a voice, the slicked back hair... Ryan remembered now. He gritted his teeth, suddenly forgetting how his ribs hurt him, he breathed heavily, blood and saliva dripped to his ripped shirt, his fists clenched.

He knew who had taken her. His eyes burned a fury he had never known before in this knowledge, she had been taken from him... He left the house, taking his pocket knife with him, a red haze had fallen before his eyes. Ryan didn't care how he would do it, but he knew he had to get Charlotte back and his child too.


	8. And The Tears Burn My Eyes

Eyes heavy with sleep opened to a brightly lit room although it was dark outside; a room she remembered with its white walls and mauve curtains. This was her old room; back in her father's house… was she dreaming? Everything was slightly blurry. She tried to move but her movements were restricted. Charlotte looked to her wrists; they were bound: tied to the bed posts of her old bed by thick rope.

She tensed and pulled at the bindings but they were firm. She began to panic, what was going on? Where was Ryan? Why was she here? The baby? Charlotte looked down, she was dressed in a nightie and to her relief her bump was still there. She wanted to stroke it but the bindings stopped her, she struggled some more, desperate to free herself.

"Oh Lottie," a terribly familiar voice muttered. Charlotte turned her head to her bedroom door which was open now and her father stepped through, "What have you done to yourself, my girl?"

"Daddy?" She gulped, "Daddy, what's happening? Where's Ryan?"

James Hargreaves circled the bed, never taking his eyes off his daughter and her obvious pregnancy. There was something in his eyes she couldn't place, a look she'd never seen before, a distant, sad look, but something else. He seemed to ignore her question and looked at her, his cane in hand for support.

"What has that swine done to you? My poor little girl, deflowered, by a deceitful young man… My little girl…" He sat on the bed next to her.

"Why am I tied up? What's going on?"

Mr Hargreaves again did not seem to hear her, "Do you remember when you were eight, Lottie? When you asked for the sled for Christmas? I was so proud of my little girl then, being so kind to think of others, you were never one to think of yourself were you?"

"Daddy?"

"Such a selfless little girl… whatever happened to that little girl?" He reached for her bedside table and picked up a silver framed photo, it was a portrait of Emily Hargreaves, he smiled slightly under his moustache as he looked at her, "What would your mother think to see you now, Lottie?"

"Daddy?" she tried again, tears pierced her eyes and her voice cracked, "Where's Ryan?"

Mr Hargreaves sighed when she asked but didn't answer her.

The bedroom door opened again and this time Gerald stepped through, his face was flushed as if he'd been running about. He took a quick look at Charlotte and then his attention turned to her father.

"He's on his way," he said abruptly.

Charlotte tried to sit up, "Ryan?" she asked. Her question was ignored by the two men.

Her father looked at Gerald sternly and nodded in approval. The young man turned to leave, giving his cousin a look of disgust as he spied the unborn child she harboured.

Mr Hargreaves replaced the photo in its original place and looked at his daughter, bound to her bed, he took a fleeting glance at her bump and then back into her tear filled eyes. He reached forward and stroked her cheek where a tear had fallen, "Don't worry, Lottie. Daddy's here now. Daddy will take care of everything." In all her life Charlotte had never heard him say a sentence that chilled her to her very core as much as this one had, what did he mean?

He rose from the bed and made his way to the door, producing a key from his pocket as he went.

"Daddy, what's going on? What's happening?" He left the room and locked the door behind him, "Daddy! Where's Ryan?" she yelled as she tugged against her restraints with all the energy she had, "_Where's Ryan?"_

Gerald stood in the alcove of the doorway to the house to keep out of the heavy rain but stood waiting for someone to arrive and he hoped they would come soon. The quicker Charlotte was out of this situation the better, and if they could sedate her in some way it would be even more preferable. Even now she called _his_ name, and it infuriated him, after all the wretched bastard had done to her and _still_ she calls for him. It was hard to look at her like this with her pregnancy so clear for everyone to see; and with that blasted gold wedding ring on her finger which Gerald now had in his pocket.

It wasn't fair. She'd been promised to him, it should be _his_ ring on her finger, _his_ child growing in her womb not the filthy offspring of some commoner she fancied.

He took a quick swig of gin from the hip flask he carried in his jacket pocket to calm his nerves, _Still, it won't matter soon. We'll have this whole thing sorted out,_ but the thought of what was coming in the next few hours made him shudder and take another sip.

A movement down the street caught his eye and he placed the container back in his pocket just in case it was the person he was expecting, but it wasn't. Instead appeared a young man, his white shirt torn with blood stains on it from where his lip had bled and dripped, his long, black, wild hair hung in front of his eyes in wet strands but the piercing grey, blue colour was not hidden and neither was the rage that dwelt within them.

Gerald stood firmly against the door, he hadn't expected this but he was damned if he was going to let him just walk in, "I wouldn't if I were you," he threatened the young man who advanced even closer and then stopped.

"Where is she?" Ryan asked, his voice full of anger, his fists clenched and his stance aggressive.

"I suggest you leave, now,"

"_Where is she?_" he repeated with even more anger at being ignored.

"That's none of your concern,"

"It is entirely my concern. Tell me where she is Gerald or I'll beat the information out of you," it was not an empty threat and he knew it, his eyes took an unintentional look upwards, Ryan did not miss this though and his gaze followed right up to upper levels of the house, where Charlotte's old bedroom had been, "She's in there isn't she? Just get out of my way."

"I'm not unarmed, scum," Gerald reached to his pocket and withdrew a fancy looking flip knife, "and I'm not without allies either,"

"I'm not here to start a battle, I just want Charlotte,"

"She's not yours to take!"

Ryan grabbed his own knife and revealed the blade to a suddenly very scared looking Gerald. Ryan was smiling manically, "Yes. She. Is!"

Charlotte struggled against the bindings but it useless. She tried to reach her head over in an attempt to chew through the rope but it was much too thick. She threw her head back onto the pillow in dismay, if she weren't pregnant she could perhaps be more forceful but she was too concerned for the child's wellbeing to attempt anything too strenuous or foolish.

Voices could be heard from the other side of her bedroom door and she recognised them easily. Gerald's school friends; a big burly collection of young men who played rugby, the phrase 'built like a brick shit house' sprang to mind. Why were _they_ here? Was Gerald expecting trouble?

"Oh God, if you can hear me, please help me," she prayed. All she could think of was Ryan and how he would be now, full of anger and panic, who knew what he was capable of, "Please don't do this to Ryan, I can't leave him."

A crashing sound from outside made her jump and raised voices followed, both of them she recognised. She tugged helpless at her restraints as she heard the rage filled conversation and the rapid footsteps of Gerald's friends as they descended the staircase.

Ryan was grabbed and held by his arms by the larger men Gerald had brought along for protection. Gerald now sported an already blood red eye from the impact of Ryan's fist. He held his arm where Ryan had stabbed him; it bled excessively and had gone dead from the severed nerve.

Ryan screamed his abuse at all of them.

Gerald walked towards Ryan and then with his good arm punched the restrained man in the face, "You fucking bastard!" He yelled at him, "How dare you!" Ryan spat the blood from his mouth quickly and began struggling again, ready to slaughter the man who'd been nothing but a pestilence to him, "You ruined her,"

"Fuck you, Gerald! She chose me, she's mine!"

"So you keep saying,"

"What do you want with her?"

Gerald could hardly believe he'd even asked the question, "What do I _want_? I want to keep her from you,"

"You can't do this, she's my wife!" Oh how that word stung Gerald, like being hit in the stomach, but instead of lashing out he took a more cunning approach.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the wedding ring, with intent to show Ryan he had it. Ryan's struggles became more intense as he spotted the golden band in Gerald's fingers, "Give that back!"

"You think this means _anything_?" He responded, he punched Ryan again, "This means nothing! It can be erased, as simply as removing vermin just like you. You still haven't won!" Another punch came but Ryan did not give up. He continued to struggle against the grip of the three men who held him.

"Gerald!" a stern voice called from behind him, everyone turned. James Hargreaves now stood in the doorway, looking out at the fight, "There is no need for that,"

Ryan stopped struggling; he could only hope that if the old man had any decency left in him that he might listen to him, "James, please. Don't do this, please don't take her from me. Please, for once think about what she wants," he pleaded. It felt uncomfortable, he'd never pleaded with anyone for anything before, "I love her James, I married her, she wants to be with me…"

Mr Hargreaves did not even look in Ryan's direction, his attention was solely focused on the street ahead and a carriage that drew closer. He calmly reached for his pocket watch, noticing that it was well past eleven, later than he'd anticipated, "For God's sake, James she's pregnant with my child!"

Gerald struck again, enraged by the words Ryan had chosen to use, _pregnant with my child,_ "Just shut up you filthy rat! Don't talk about this sordid affair like it's something to be proud of,"

"Everything will be taken care of soon," James whispered under his moustache. The carriage halted outside the house, "Ah good, the doctor's here,"

Ryan tensed, _Doctor?_ He glanced behind him, still held tightly by the larger men. The carriage door opened and Ryan felt an icy coldness unlike anything he'd ever felt before, the first thing he saw as this man got out of the carriage was the case he held. He recognised that case and it made his legs buckle. The man who carried it was older now and plumper, but it was him alright, and with him at his side as always, stood a mature, rounded woman. Thunder rumbled as they got out of the carriage together.

_No, no, no, no!_ He screamed internally as he once again fought against those who held him. The rain was falling in his favour, making it hard for Gerald's lackeys to keep hold of him, "James!" he called out, "For the love of God don't let that man near her! That man is no doctor! He's an…" his voice trailed off as he realised now exactly what was going on… Charlotte's family had hired an abortionist.

Ryan screamed in protest.

The 'doctor' walked past hardly even paying attention, his focus was on getting out of the rain, to see the client and then walk out again with a hefty sum before the police arrived.

"Mr Hargreaves?" he asked. James shook hands with the 'doctor'.

"James!" Ryan called, "Please, don't do this! That man is responsible for more deaths than successes. Please don't do this. I'll leave, I'll go and leave Charlotte here, but oh God don't let _him_ near her. He'll kill her! He'll kill both of them!"

James shivered; he knew there was a risk in this. But he'd been assured that this man knew what he was doing.

"Scandalous lies, sir. I have a fine practise and the best methods to hand," he patted his case which clattered with the sound of metal instruments, "Tell me sir, how far along is your daughter?"

"We estimate somewhere between three and four months,"

"Hm…?" the abortionist considered this, "In that case a hot bath and gin might not be enough. We may need to resort to more intrusive surgery,"

"Don't you touch her!" Ryan screamed as he finally broke free of the men who held him. He grabbed his knife from the ground and darted towards the house, but he was not quick enough. The door was closed and locked before he could gain entry. Ryan beat the wood with his fists screaming in internal agony, tears stung his eyes. The door did not budge. He stepped back, and looked to Charlotte's bedroom window, the trellis was gone.

"_Charlotte!_" He screamed as he fell to his knees in the cold, heavy rain, "_Charlotte!_"

"_Ryan!_" Charlotte screamed out as she heaved her body back and forth on the bed, she cursed internally, no one had ever told her in school how to _undo_ a decent knot. She was crying, screaming out Ryan's name in sheer terror. She had not been able to hear everything that was said but she knew she had to get out.

"Now, now Lottie," her father said as he came into the room again, "You shouldn't struggle so, you might hurt yourself,"

"Daddy, please let me go,"

"I've brought someone to see you my dear, a doctor; he's going to take care of you,"

Charlotte saw a man enter the room with a brown leather bag that clattered with metal, an older woman stood behind him, she was putting on a leather apron "Good evening, Miss Hargreaves," he greeted her as he removed his hat, "I understand you're in a spot of trouble,"

Charlotte spat at him, "It's Mrs Ryan Kuhn to you, and no I'm not in any trouble,"

"Lottie, let's not be impolite to the doctor,"

The man turned to the woman behind him as he laid down his case and started to put some gloves on, "Nurse, I need a bath made, as hot as you can make it. We'll need towels, lots of them," he turned reassuringly to Mr Hargreaves, "Just as a precaution, you understand." She nodded and turned down the hall. The man removed his coat and took a syringe from his pocket, removed the cap and showed it to Charlotte.

Her eyes grew wide in fear. Outside, Ryan's desperate cries to her could be heard.

"Daddy?"

"Now, Miss Hargreaves. I don't particularly want to give you an anaesthetic but if you won't cooperate then I'll have to administer it,"

"Anaesthetic? What's going on? What are you going to do?"

He placed the syringe on the bedside table and rolled up his sleeves. Mr Hargreaves took hold of his daughter's hand, "I just need to quickly give you an examination," he reached his hands towards her bump.

Charlotte brought her knees up and began kicking, "Don't you dare touch me!" she screamed, "Ryan!"

"I'm afraid we'll need to restrain her further,"

Ryan's frantic cries filled the air outside as he hammered on the door. The downstairs windows were covered by wrought iron grills for protection, there was no way inside. Charlotte's terrified screams filled the corridors of the house. Gerald had managed to slip back inside when the doctor had arrived and sat at the bottom of the stairs, holding his ears to block out the noise, _Just sedate her why don't you?_ He didn't know how much more of this he could take, why was she resisting? Surely she'd want to be rid of the blasted thing inside her. If she didn't stop screaming he was sure he would crack. She just kept screaming out Ryan's name, like he was her knight in shining armour. Why? Why?

Eventually Gerald was called upstairs by Mr Hargreaves; his assistance was needed to keep Lottie still.

"Oh God, don't do this!" Ryan pleaded through his tears, "Don't take my angel from me, not now, not like this! She's _my_ angel! You can't take her back, God! _She's mine!_"

Gerald grabbed her legs and held them down which was hard with one useless arm, but not before Charlotte had managed to kick him hard in the face, "Lottie! Stop it!" he yelled at her.

"Get off me you bastards!"

"Lottie Hargreaves, mind your language," her father warned her in that same tone he used when she was little; he held her hand tightly.

"My name is _Charlotte!_" she spat at them, "_Charlotte Kuhn!_"

She fought with all her might against her father and her cousin; but something caught her eye. The doctor as he'd been called was extracting several things from his case: a variety of scalpels, a much larger syringe with a pump mechanism, several filthy looking rags and long lengths of metal which the nurse proceeded to screw into one whole piece.

"We're ready," she said.

"Very well, hold her arm out," he replied.

"Daddy! Please, don't… my baby!" she screamed.

The nurse grabbed her arm and held it still as the abortionist came forward with the anaesthetic.

"_Ryan! RYAN!_" she couldn't fight four people and she knew it. As the syringe pierced her skin Charlotte felt something inside her. A tiny jolt from her bump, she gasped in alarm at the sensation and tears streamed down her face as she realised what it was, "I felt him, I felt him kick!" she exclaimed, she smiled and laughed through the tears despite the feeling of burning that entered her arm as the doctor injected the drug into her vein, it began to take affect almost immediately. Charlotte looked at her father, "My baby… Daddy? Everything will be alright won't it? My baby kicked… Where's Ryan? He should be… here… Where's… Ryan…?" Her limbs went limp and her head rested on the pillow as she succumbed to the silence, the child within her kicked again but she didn't notice this time.

Outside, Ryan had heard her and he too had fallen silent…


	9. I Finished Crying The Instant You Left

An hour passed, then two, then three, and in all that time Ryan barely moved. He knelt in front of the house, looking at the front door, oblivious to the cold rain as it beat heavily against his skin.

He could still hear her in his mind; her horrible screams and then that dreaded moment when she'd felt movement inside her; he'd known then that there was no hope.

In his mind he relayed all the information he knew of the procedure from witnessing it as a boy.

They would place her in a scalding hot bath for at least an hour, changing the water regularly to keep the temperature high, one way or another they would make her ingest gin and various other concoctions which if she was anaesthetised would mean putting a tube down her throat to force them into her. This would not be enough though and he knew it.

The simple fact that the child had begun moving, it meant that surgery was inevitable. They would be performing it now.

The front door suddenly opened, but Ryan did not move from his vigil. He did not take his eyes away as Gerald with his arm in a sling stumbled out of the house with his hand over his mouth looking deathly pale. He ran past to his comrades who had been keeping a watchful eye over Ryan, shooing away passersby or bribing any policemen who had come to investigate the noise.

Ryan turned his head slightly at the sound of Gerald vomiting on the street. His friends gathered round him, "Jesus Christ! What the Hell's going on in there?" one of them asked, horrified.

"It's horrible…" he managed finally, "There's so much… blood…"

Ryan sighed as his gaze rested on the door again, "Have they flushed her out yet?" he asked coldly.

Gerald turned to him, "What?"

Frustration lined every word, "The syringe, Gerald, the _large_ syringe... Has it been used yet?"

"N... n... no... Only the... p... p..."

"The poker..." Ryan remarked, he licked his lips and dropped his head lower, but his eyes stayed on the door, "How much blood is she losing, Gerald?"

Gerald regained his balance but still supported himself on the wall, he couldn't bring himself to look at Ryan now, "Lots..."

Ryan sighed again, "I don't want an exaggeration, I want the facts! How much blood is she losing?"

Gerald wiped his brow and took his hip flask out to take a hefty swig, "We've used every towel in the house, the bed's covered in blood... She just keeps bleeding..." Ryan nodded without looking away from the door, "Aren't you going to go in? To save her?"

"You forget, I'm 'hooker's spawn'... I know what lies within that house now, I've seen it before... Have you ever seen a woman give birth to a dead child, piece by piece? Because right now, that is what's happening in there..." he smirked, "I'm not going to ruin her image by having her slaughtered bleeding remains be the last thing I see of her."

"Then why are you staying?"

"I'm not leaving here until I know she's gone... It shouldn't take too long now, if he's ruptured her..."

"But... he said he could fix it, he said she'd be alright,"

"Every towel in the house you said, she keeps bleeding you said. He's damaged her irreparably. I've seen it... She'll never wake up."

"That man is specialist-"

"That man is a butcher! She was dead the moment that sedative was injected…"

There was nothing else to say after that and for a while everyone waited in silence.

Gerald kept his eye on Ryan who did not move and barely seemed to even breathe. He wondered what on Earth was keeping the young man from tearing him to pieces right now, if Ryan was right and there truly was no hope then why did he sit so calmly outside the house?

Ryan contemplated the process happening now, but not daring to put Charlotte's face to the images. His eyes were fixed on the door, glazed in a mix of emotions. The next part would involve that dreaded syringe, full of boiling hot water, a pint of it at least, and they would… He shuddered as he remembered the sound it made as the syringe was pumped. He could only pray that during this whole process that the sedative had been a sufficient amount, the idea of her waking up at any point was horrific. At this moment, he could care less about the Hargreaves' family around him; none of them mattered now, for it was too late to care about them.

The door slowly opened and Ryan's fists clenched tightly.

Mr Hargreaves stepped out into the rain, his clothing covered in what seemed like an impossible amount of blood, his hands were slippery from the viscous but he gripped his cane tightly despite this. He looked a state, exhausted and his expression was unreadable, somewhere between anger and delusion. Behind him, the 'doctor' and his 'nurse' slipped quietly past in a hurry, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire between the client and the other man. Ryan gave them both a deadly glance, but inside he felt strangely withdrawn and unfeeling towards them. He could've laughed seeing how the man and woman had emerged with not a spot of blood on either of them; you had to know what to wear and where to stand in that procedure. They hurried off into the night, the nurse holding a bundle of rather large, bulky rags against herself that Ryan did not even think to look twice at despite their obvious weight...

Ryan looked up at James Hargreaves, who looked down at Ryan with the same hate filled expression.

"Are you pleased now, boy?" He asked Ryan.

"It's over, isn't it," He responded.

"Yes. One way or another boy, I swore you would never have her, and now I can guarantee it. She was never yours to have, you've lost. I've taken her from you,"

Ryan had expected an intense anger at this, he'd anticipated his heart to break further than it already had, he'd even thought that perhaps he would cry before tearing into both Gerald and James, knife in hand, ready to slash both their throats. This feeling did not come though, instead he smiled, and chuckled softly, and then the laughter became more intense, becoming more and more manic as if he were unable to stop. Ryan's eyes were glazed in the sudden madness that descended upon him.

The sound of his laughter was paralysing to those who watched, it was sick laughter, the laughter of the Devil himself. He didn't stop, not even as James Hargreaves clenched his cane and lifted it, not even as he swung it at Ryan's face. The impact was hard causing Ryan to fall to his back, but still he laughed as the rain pelted down on his face, blood came from his insane smile and spilt down his cheeks into his hair.

"Ye, though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death; I shall fear no evil. For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me…"

Ryan sat forward on a bench in the cemetery smoking a cigarette as he listened to the words spoken, stroking the silver case. He had dressed for the occasion, making use of the tailored outfit his wife had brought him on his twenty-first; it had served him well on his wedding day, now it was being used for his wife's funeral. With the money she had taken with her on their wedding night -stressing it was only a small amount, it had been more money than Ryan would earn in two years work- he had also suited himself with an appropriate top hat and cane. Charlotte would've liked that had she still been around it admire his efforts.

He watched in silence from afar as the ceremony was held, he had not been invited, but to Hell with their wishes, it was Charlotte's funeral. If he could attend his slut mother's funeral then he had every right to be here for this. The distance did not matter; he'd rather be here than stood by the grave with the selection of mourners.

Everyone was there, from distant family to her father, all dressed in finest black. Ryan doubted many of them would even know who he was let alone how much he'd been apart of Charlotte's life. No, he wasn't welcome within that circle, he would bide his time and wait for them to leave, he didn't particularly want to see her coffin anyway or watch as it was lowered into the ground.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen," Father McGuire closed his bible sombrely and gradually the mourners dispersed, even Mr Hargreaves who it seemed was led away by a nurse of some sort. All but one person remained behind, Gerald.

Ryan rose from the bench, pocketing his cigarette case and picking up the single red rose he had brought.

Gerald spotted his advance and proceeded to walk towards him. It was only in this close proximity that Gerald had even recognised the young man in his finery.

He gulped before he spoke, "A word, if you please," Ryan stopped before him, there was nothing behind his eyes, just emptiness. Gerald reached for his jacket and removed a small cheque book and a pen, "This is highly unorthodox, but I feel I have no choice. How much do you want?" Ryan looked at him quizzically, "For you silence Ryan, I can't allow this scandal to become public knowledge, none of it. So name your price,"

Ryan responded coldly, "I don't want your money, Gerald or anything else, you took the only thing I ever wanted,"

"I'm not going to allow you to ruin our family,"

"You honestly think I'm that petty that I'd want to bring slander to her good name?" Gerald didn't answer. Ryan sighed, "There's only one thing I want,"

"Name it,"

"Charlotte's wedding ring,"

Gerald was surprised, "That's all?"

Ryan extended his hand towards him, "Her ring for my silence,"

Gerald reached into his pocket, he didn't know why he carried the blasted thing everywhere, it just felt right to do so, perhaps it was fate. He placed it in Ryan's palm whose fingers closed lovingly around the band and then he turned to the grave, making his way to it.

"Kuhn!" Gerald said, Ryan stopped but did not look back, "For what it's worth, I am sorry,"

The young man breathed deeply through his teeth and tried to calm himself, today was about saying his goodbyes to Charlotte. So he walked on towards the immaculate stone work that adorned the head of her grave.

The craftsmanship was impeccable, a stone angel with her wings spread wide in invitation, but her arms were across her chest, holding the thin fabric of her stone garment to her breasts to protect her modesty.

The grave was still open, with a few handfuls of soil thrown on top of the coffin. Ryan tried to keep his eyes from it though and simply looked at the headstone.

Ryan's eyes scanned the lettering that had been carefully carved into the stone work. It came as no real surprise to see her name written as Charlotte Hargreaves, dearly beloved daughter laid to rest.

There was no mention of the baby either, although this also was expected.

He knelt before the monument, placing his single rose gently on the ground. He kept his eyes from looking upon her coffin, preferring instead to talk to the stonework she would be immortalised upon, "I'm sorry, sweetheart…" he started quietly, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you this time… I guess I fucked up this time, didn't I?" he laughed a little, but the monument did not respond, "You would've laughed at that, I'm sure…"

Ryan knelt there in silence for a while as he lay the rose at the base of angel; waiting for the tears to come that hadn't and still did not. Just emptiness and nothing else, "What do I do now, Charlotte? Where do I go from here without you?" He placed his hand on the markings that made out her name; his fingers clung to the grooves, "I don't want to say goodbye… I'm not ready to…" His head dropped just as a hand was placed on his shoulder.

"My son?" The old priest's voice was unmistakeable; but for once, Ryan was not pleased to hear it.

"Leave me," he said.

"Ryan, she cannot give you the answers you seek, not now,"

"And you think you can?"

"I can at least try."

Inside the church the candles were lit and only two figures sat on separate pews. Ryan's eyes for a while could not be taken away from the carving of Christ above the altar, that same place in the sight of God and his sacrificed son where he had married her.

"How do you feel?" the priest asked.

Ryan laughed as he smoked a cigarette and ran his fingers through his hair, "How is one meant to feel, Father? How is a person supposed to feel after such a travesty? Anger, sadness maybe?... I feel nothing, Father not a blasted thing, not anger, not rage... It's just empty, there's nothing there to feel..." he looked in the priest's direction as he gripped his shirt with his free hand above where his heart beat, "I haven't shed a tear, nor grieved for her. Why is that?"

Father McGuire could not answer the young man whose hands shook despite his supposed lack of emotion, "My son, you must learn to forgive, as Christ forgave, for that is the only way you can move forward with your life, only then will you feel His love with you again,"

Ryan wanted to spit upon the very word, forgiveness, "And what of James and Gerald," he asked harshly, "Did they tell you what happened?"

Father McGuire sighed, "Yes, both James and Gerald came to me. They confessed. They have been absolved,"

"So they're forgiven is what you're telling me?"

He knew full well that it wasn't what the young man wanted to hear, and even to him it was unjust, but he had no choice, "By confessing and asking for repentance they receive absolution from the Lord, I can do no more than that."

"Fuck..." he whispered, "Why Father, why did this happen?"

"God works in mysterious ways, my son,"

Ryan laughed again, "God? _God?_ Where was God, Father? Where was the merciful fucking bastard when my unborn child was torn from my eighteen year old wife's womb? Where was _He_ when Charlotte lay slowly bleeding to death? Where was God?" Father McGuire did not know how to answer him, "If there is a God, Father then he is a selfish, cruel entity and he stole her from me. She was _my_ angel, he took her back,"

"Ryan, Charlotte was indeed an angel. Can you not find comfort in knowing that she has gone back to join the others of her kind?"

Ryan shook, "What kind of God sends me a saving grace as a child only to take it away from me when I need it most? She was my saviour, my reason… now I've lost her,"

Father McGuire feared the worst now, but before he could speak further, Ryan stood up and began to walk away from him, "God offers no comfort, Father... so I intend to find my own."

"What will you do?" he asked with concern, fearing what foolish act the young man so easily led by his heart rather than his head might do.

"I don't know..." he paused to take only final violent drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out in his fingers, "Perhaps there's some way to bring back some feeling into this husk of a body that is mine,"

He left, only just being able to hear Father McGuire's final words spoken to him, "Time heals, Ryan... God and time heals all wounds!"

He stood under a recently lit street lamp as the night drew closer still, looking at the wedding ring he held as it glistened in this flickering light. He leant against the lamp as he sighed, _I miss you sweetheart... It all feels so incomplete without you..._

Never once in his life had he even contemplated the idea that she wouldn't be there every day for him. Now it felt so empty inside. A month, a whole month without her and this mood had not changed. He was numb, unfeeling and it infuriated him. Why wasn't he crying endlessly over her, why didn't he scream and curse, denounce God here and now, or vow to avenge her, plan the murder of her bastard cousin and her now mentally infirm father? What would be the point though?... He twirled the ring in his fingers a little longer and then raised it to his mouth to kiss it. Ryan _wanted_ to cry, and for a moment thought that finally he would as it hit him that nothing would bring her back. There was a lump in his throat and an ache in his chest, he whispered her name softly as he placed her wedding ring on his little finger.

"'Cuse me, sir!" a little voice asked.

Ryan jumped, he hadn't realised anyone was standing there. It shook him up and he forgot how close he was to finally letting his emotions out. He looked at her, she was a young girl, maybe sixteen but could've been younger than that; she had dark hair and wore a raggedy dress that might've been a nice garment once upon a time, but not anymore.

Ryan quickly composed himself, "What do you want?" he asked her without feeling.

"My apologies sir, but I'm lost," her voice was high and so very Londoner in its accent.

"And where are you trying to get to?" he didn't particularly want to talk to her and hoped she would go soon.

"It's embarrassin', sir," she blushed obviously even in this poor lighting, "I'm tryin' to find me brothel,"

_Oh Christ_, he thought, _Another whore!_ "What makes you think I'd know where to find it?"

"Well, Madam said if I get lost I should ask any man and they'd know, it's only me second day sir"

"I'm afraid you picked the wrong man to ask, I don't frequent brothels or associate with whores," He reached for his pocket to take a cigarette from his case and lit it, exhaling a jet of smoke quickly.

The young prostitute was about to apologise for interrupting his evening when she saw the golden band on Ryan's finger, "That's a very pretty ring, sir," she commented.

"It was my wife's,"

"Well, if you don't mind me sayin' sir, she must be a very lucky lady to have such a fine 'usband like yourself who gets 'er such a lovely ring."

"She's dead," he responded flatly.

This made the young girl uncomfortable, "Oh sir, I'm so sorry. I didn't know..." she tried her best to appear sympathetic, "A widower so young, that's not fair. Was it an unexpected death?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Yes; you could call it unexpected," he'd rather not speak about it though.

He looked at her, a bit more carefully this time, she was wearing makeup to make herself look older but it wasn't helping to disguise her youth, in fact she could've been as young as fourteen, "Jesus Christ, how old are you?"

She gave him a defensive look, "Old enough to do the job, sir!"

"I don't doubt that," he took a puff of his cigarette, "And this is your second day? Have you been broken in yet?" he asked in regards to her virginity.

She giggled like the giddy school girl she should've been, "For a man who don't use hookers you certainly know the lingo well… No, I ain't been broken in."

"So you can charge more for the privilege?" he was starting to become comfortable with the little girl at his side, letting his shoulders relax. He'd never usually get this deep into conversation with any woman especially about their sexual habits, perhaps it helped that she was a virgin. He was more than aware of what this meant to her, the loss of her virtue in return for a full stomach.

"Oh no, sir, times is hard these days, I gots to take what I can gets," Ryan couldn't help but laugh at her very London accent and high voice, she didn't seem at all offended though, "I got to find a customer tonight though; Madam said I won't get fed if I don't bring home some money… well I s'pose I'd best keep lookin'. Maybe I'll find me another young gen'leman like yourself who can 'elp me find me way or possibly pay 'andsomely."

Ryan contemplated the situation he'd found himself in with this young girl. Yes, it was below him, but he found himself wanting the company now, no matter who it was from, besides, there were much worse people both he and she could liaise with this night, "How much do you charge, whore?"

She gazed at him with her large eyes, "Sir?"

He found himself now going with the flow, "I might just be able to make your night. What's the price for your services?"

She honestly couldn't believe her luck that the attractive young man had changed his mind, she nearly threw herself at him but stopped when she remembered Madam's firm instructions: always ask to see the money first. Before she had a chance to ask though, Ryan had reached into his pocket and withdrew a five pound note to show her, knowing that she would ask to see proof that he could afford her. Her eyes grew even wider at seeing it; that was more money than she dared ever hope she'd see, Ryan played with the note between his fingers as he looked at her sweet expression, "Name your price quickly, before I change my mind,"

She could've lied, but that would be deceitful, and since he'd been so kind to her it seemed wrong to outright rob him of his money, "Two shillin's, sir"

Ryan took a quick puff on his cigarette, "Two shillings to break you in?" He considered this, "I'll do you a favour; I'll pay you five for the privilege,"

Her smile beamed across her face, "Oh sir, for five shillin's you get special favours for that,"

Ryan laughed slightly as he finished his cigarette and looked at her with a coy look in his eye, "I was hoping you'd say that,"

The little whore child led the way down a narrow alley. Ryan placed his back to the wall when they were far enough into the dark shadows that they wouldn't be disturbed. He took a quick glance in both directions as he placed his hand on the girl's head and gently pushed her to her knees before him.

Her inexperience was evident even as she placed her lips around him, but in a way this was good, just like the first time he'd asked Charlotte to do this for him. Ryan took a deep breath through clenched teeth as she slowly began to take him further. His hips moved forward in time with her and he kept his hand on her head to encourage her more.

It had always seemed like a strange thing to do to man, she'd seen many of the other hookers doing it but it had perplexed her. The young girl was so eager to please though that she didn't dare raise a protest or ask him why he wanted this done. He seemed to enjoy it though, that much was obvious from the way his fingers laced themselves through her hair.

He trembled and bit his lip as she finally became accustomed to him, using her tongue more actively on him, but his trembling made her worry and she stopped, "Am I doin' it right?"

Ryan gasped but couldn't bring himself to look at her. Oh God, it felt so good, after all this time, something felt good, more than good even… A tear fell from his eye as he felt warmth spreading through him, "You're doing fine, just don't stop," he ordered as he pushed her back into place around him.

Oh yes, just like the first time with Charlotte, a little unsure of herself, a little too much pressure with her teeth, but still so good, so easy to control, but no... As good as this was, he wanted her properly... He ordered the young girl to stand up, and he pushed her against the wall, lifting her up so her legs wrapped around him, she lifted her skirts and prayed silently in her head that it would not hurt as much as the other whores had teased her it would. Her prayers were unanswered, and dismissed.

As Ryan broke his way within her, she cried out and held tightly to his shoulders, encircling his neck with her arms as tears stung her eyes. Ryan did not hold back despite her inexperience, he relished in the sounds of her tiny yelps, and the feeling of her legs wrapped around his waist as tightly as her virginal walls encircled his member. He used more force, holding her tighter and putting his face to the nape of her slender neck and shoulder.

He tried not to think about what he was doing, who he was doing it with, and how young she may have been, so he closed his eyes as tightly as he could and imagined his beloved Charlotte. In Ryan's mind he transformed the feeling of this tiny, much too skinny girl into the image and feeling of Charlotte until it was her definitely. Oh he wanted her, needed her, just like he'd always done, and she was as willing as she always had been; eager to please him, regardless of the extent of his needs.

Ryan bit the tender flesh on her throat, it was Charlotte's voice he heard in response and he drove harder, grabbing her hips and pushing himself deeper. He bit her again, but harder this time completely enveloped in his delusion that this was Charlotte's willing body he was using.

It was all coming back now, the old feelings of endless and uncontrollable lust, her voice echoed in his ears, her longing whispers and desperate moans. He touched her in ways he'd only touched her in, the flash of her blue eyes begging him to stop made him nearly reach his peak there and then. The fantasies were still there and alive, the desire to rip himself through her, to tear her to pieces out of love for her.

He felt her arms come down to push him away but Ryan held tighter, "Come on now, sweetheart, you know you have to do better than that," he bit her hard, sensing his teeth pierce tender flesh.

"Please, no more! No more!" She screamed.

With eyes still closed, lost in this memory, Ryan placed his hand over her mouth to silence her and used increasing force with his hips.

It was just as he remembered, but different. There were no drawbacks, her hands did not stroke his hair to calm him, her words were not the comforting lines that had brought him back to his senses so many times before. She kept fighting, kept struggling against him and it only fuelled him further. Blood filled Ryan's mouth which he eagerly lapped up and then tore deeper into her throat.

She tried begging him to stop but he couldn't, not now, besides, she had her ways of telling him when something was too much, and she wasn't doing those things, she just kept fighting, as he tore through muscle and sinew.

Exhilarating, tempting and without boundaries, he drove deeper and harder, his jaw working in time with his hips as he drew nearer his peak until he could hold back no more.

Ryan's jaw clenched tightly over the jugular vein which pulsated her hot blood quickly into his mouth as he emptied himself into her.

The body he'd held so closely to himself suddenly went very limp.

The trance like state and its euphoria left as quickly as he'd finished. He knew what he'd done, knew _exactly_ what he'd done!

He ran into the embracing night, the blood still warm against his mouth and chin, but cooler against his chest where his shirt too was stained and clung to his skin.

His breathing was rapid and heavy, his legs trembling with every step but still he ran, and ran, and ran. His heart beat painfully against his ribs and aching lungs, he could suddenly feel every cigarette he'd ever smoked.

Ryan didn't stop as he cast off his jacket, his shirt followed suit once he'd wiped the blood from his face. His progress barely hindered as he vaulted over a fence. He scarcely even looked at the clean shirt as he wrenched it from the clothes line and continued out of the stranger's garden.

The streets became illuminated in the glow of lamp light, but even here there were barely any people, aside from a lone police officer across the road.

His gut told him to run but his head was more commanding; to run would attract attention to himself, _No, don't run... But you must hide, get away from this place... No one must even know you were here..._

From the shadows Ryan spotted the concrete stairs that led down, deep into the ground and his legs moved with a will of their own. Down the steps, down and down to the mechanical echoes beneath. Through the gate, down more steps supporting his trembling knees by clinging to the hand rails.

It was dreamlike and for all this time he had no real idea of where he was heading, that was until he sat down and finally gained the courage to look around him.

The carriage was unsteady and swayed on the tracks, the electric lights flickered on and off repeatedly.

He couldn't recall how he'd got here and that alone scared him, but the anxiety of being on the train never came; the swaying was comforting and the feeling of exhilaration was there to alleviate the stress.

He chuckled to himself, taking the wedding ring from his finger and began playing with it.

"I suppose today must be a cold day in Hell, sweetheart" he spoke to the inanimate gold band, "Are you proud of me?" he smiled.


	10. When I Touch You Like This

Had it not been for the brutality of the attack it might have gone unnoticed for it was not uncommon to find prostitutes dead in the street, but the vast amount of blood had stirred a panic in the police officer who found her.

No one claimed her, none came forward to identify her remains and all that could be determined in the cold light of day was that the young girl was no older than thirteen.

No witnesses; no leads…

He clutched the newspaper with unsteady hands, smoking a cigarette as he leaned over the edge of Camden lock.

Passersby took no notice of him with his shirt only half done up and his dark hair a mess.

He scanned the pages furiously taking note of every detail they'd been allowed to print, although a lot of it had been censored. It was hard to read; his eyes stung and were bloodshot from lack of sleep.

It was bland and clinical in its description, not at all like the euphoria he'd experienced and it brewed deep inside him at how they dare portray it with such lack of emotion.

He'd felt it, in the instant that her body had gone limp, as if he'd broken out of some mental cage that had held him captive for years… there was only one word to describe it; release…

Everything he'd ever held back from doing, every urge in his body and mind had been sated as if he were a man dying of thirst who'd quenched it for the first time in his life. In his mind, it had been Charlotte, she'd screamed, protested, had not used the methods he'd become accustomed to that told him to stop, and with _her_ permission he'd torn her apart… Of course, it hadn't been her and he was all too aware of that fact, and with that came the burning sensation of guilt in his guts, but in regards to what he'd _done_… there was no guilt to be felt. She'd deserved it; whores and sluts deserve all they get.

Ryan's fists clenched, crumpling the paper in his hands, infuriated with himself for falling to a siren's deceit with the empty promises of comfort and satisfaction. He looked up, his gaze following the ripples of the water beneath him as they churned and foamed. A very real part of him, a heavy weight in his chest ached and fluttered weakly, _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ He hoped an answer would come as he discarded the paper to the wind and his fingers tangled themselves in his hair, his fingernails scratching at the scalp as if by tearing away his skull he might acquire the answers he sought, but none came… only one feeling remained, an instinctive, brutal and primitive feeling that had not left him for hours, a feeling that made him ponder the possibility of jumping from the lock right now into the churning water below… this basic, crude, primeval force within him, the knowledge that he _would _do it again.

Already, he could feel it growing, gnawing away at his insides. Abstinence had taken its toll, and now the hunger for flesh lured him, and they _wanted _him… Those wretched harpies with their flirting and coy smiles, using a language he understood for Charlotte had revealed to him all the subtleties women used when she'd attended finishing school, a suggestive waving of a fan across their faces, an almost casual flick of the hair to reveal the throat… all of it, little messages. They _wanted _him…

_No, no, no, no… I'm better than this. I'm better than this…_

Flashes of memory replayed before his eyes as he shut them, and as hard as he ground his teeth together and clenched his eyes and fists tightly, driving his nails into his palms enough to create small trenches in the skin he could not shake the feeling the memory brought with it. There was no denying it; he'd enjoyed it… He'd enjoyed every last detail, and that was the all important part, he'd felt something, anything, a genuine emotion, after this long empty alien period of feeling numb and dead to a world alive and thriving, he suddenly found himself full of energy, vigour and need. That, was all the persuasion he needed.

At first he tried to restrain himself, keeping out of the way of anyone who'd potentially catch his eye. He wondered if the memory alone might be enough to satisfy him, but the act of masturbation only gave limited comfort; no matter how hard he imagined or recalled the sensations it was never to the same effect.

He stood naked, in defeat of the situation, hands pressed firmly against the wall, head down, and tears streaming from his eyes, not from grief or remorse, but frustration at the uselessness of the tight feeling in his gut.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He whispered over and over again to himself. He hadn't slept for days and felt like he wouldn't tonight either, his pulse was racing, he could hear the pounding of blood in his ears. He'd already tried to pleasure himself, but it had been of little satisfaction, even biting his own tongue till it bled had not created the same stimulus from that evening a week ago now. His body was fatigued, his soul drained.

He spat his own blood from his mouth and turned to face the chair where he'd thrown his trousers earlier. He quickly pulled them on and a clean shirt too, pocketed some cash and his knife and ventured out into the night.

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for.

"How much?" he asked her coldly.

"Ten shillings, love," she responded and led him away from the group of prostitutes who lined the Camden High Street, one of whom spat at his feet for having rejected her own advances a moment ago. He made a point of remembering her face.

They ventured together to where the empty stools of Camden Market waited silently, the market was a maze in daylight, in darkness it was almost prison like.

The act was quick and brutal, the slut didn't even put up much of a fight at first despite how hard Ryan punched and bit her, but then she was used to this kind of treatment from her clients. It wasn't until he reached for his pocket knife and slid the blade across her breasts that the glimmer of fear came to her eyes.

"Now, scream for me bitch!" he ordered her as he pressed the blade against her, creating a thin river of crimson that flowed from her cleavage to her throat, surrounding it as though it were a fine necklace that glistened in the moonlight.

She obeyed, and he covered her mouth to subdue the sound as it pierced his eardrums. The knife drove deeper into her chest, slicing at the fatty tissue.

As he licked the blood from her, he remembered the way Charlotte had trembled in terror when he'd cut her the first time. He'd always been so careful though, making sure to cut her in areas no one thought to look, the same applied to beating her, never hit her face, not once did he smack her face... That little rule he'd made could be forgotten about now.

Ryan left having wiped the prostitute's blood from himself with her own dress after he'd finished. Her face now reminded him of how his mothers face had looked when he'd identified her body. He chuckled, thinking of how he'd finally figured out what the man who'd killed her had actually done to her.

He didn't stay, simply made his way back to the high street.

The scream had been heard but ignored, what was it to hear a whore scream in a dark alley? Hardly anything to turn one's head at was the simple answer. Customers always left the scene first, it gave the women a chance to pick up the money usually thrown at their feet and time to rearrange their dresses and the men a good chance to emerge from dark alleys alone.

A couple of whores took an admiring look at him as he walked by and giggled once he'd disappeared into the night.

"Oh he _must've _been good," they joked.

A younger whore approached them, "What's makes you say that?"

"Because Cathy only screams when they're huge or exceptional!" All three now laughed loudly, cackling into the night like banshees, none of them thought to go looking for Cathy until an hour later.

Ryan slept very well that evening.

About a week later, Ryan found himself in an unfamiliar part of London, outside a brothel. It was a well known brothel, the hookers inside could be bought for a meagre price if that's what one required, or the expenses could be extortionate, the higher priced whores were known for their attractiveness, their abilities and their experience... a whore who required over twenty pounds could be worth her weight in gold, or so Ryan had been told.

He stood outside for a moment, unsure of whether he should go inside at all; he'd been inside a brothel only once in his life, when he was five years old and his mother had taken him out into the night with her to work. The rain had beat down heavily that night, more than was usual, the street became flooded and his mother was left with no choice but to enter one of these places for a safe place to continue work. Luckily, the Madam of the brothel took more pity on the dripping wet child by her side than the hooker who was years past her best already. She allowed his mother to stay in exchange for a percentage of the earnings she gained that night. Ryan was taken into the back room where Madam kept her secret stash of sweets and illicit substances. Both had kept him quiet the rest of the night.

He kept his hands in his pockets now, little realising how he played absentmindedly with the ring on his finger. They called the brothel The Lotus Bud, for several reasons, one being that the Madam was a Chinese immigrant, the second because it was not just _adult_ women who could be bought.

It was dark inside, women and men reclined upon the red leather sofas and chairs, many of the women fellating their customers without blushing as he walked past. It was musky in here, the smell of carnal desire several days old and new, that smell was something that didn't wash out, and it stank regardless of how Madam had tried to disguise the smell with plants scattered in vases around the foyer.

Madam stood behind a mahogany desk, wearing a sky blue kimono with embroidery depicting a dragon encircling a cherry blossom. She looked up and smiled a false smile at him, her face plastered in Geisha makeup, but to be honest her years were showing and the makeup did not help her haggard appearance, lipstick leaked into the cracks of her lips and stained the front of her yellowing teeth. She took one puff of her opium pipe and laid the ivory on the desk before her.

"Good evening sir, what delight we offer you tonight?"

"Give me your best," He was in no mood for words, his eyes were sore from lack of sleep.

"Our best? That be a rot of money sir, rots of money, you sure you afford her?" She spoke much quicker now, her accent appearing more evident. She picked up her pipe again and placed it to her teeth and thin lips, her small dark eyes scanned him meticulously, his appearance suggested he hardly had a penny to his name.

Ryan already had the money in hand, one hundred pounds worth and he slammed it violently on the desk, shoving it towards Madam without even looking at it, the sound echoed around the foyer making everyone stop what they were doing for a moment to watch. A few gasps could be heard as they looked at the amount and Madam nearly dropped her pipe. His bloodshot eyes bore into hers with fiery rage, his lips trembled with both anger and anticipation.

"Don't keep me waiting!"

"Yes, sir, of course sir, just one moment sir…" she backed away hastily, almost as quickly as the words vomited from her painted lips, bowing as she went, disappearing behind the beaded curtain. She was good to her word, after only a few seconds absence during which time she could be heard shouting in her native tongue and clapping her hands she emerged again and behind her came a line of seven young women, all startlingly attractive, all thoroughly experienced, and all specialising in something or another.

"You rike, sir?" she walked up to him, and swept her arm in front of her as if to display the women, "You choose which one you rike?"

Ryan inspected them, salivating already.

"This one, she good, rot men rike her, she suck good," she pointed at a pretty blonde who swished her hair away from her face and blew a kiss at him with pink, full lips, "Or this one, she know what men wan'." She gestured to another blonde.

He scanned them all and they gazed hungrily back at him, licking their lips and fluttering their eyelashes, for many, this was the youngest man they'd been paraded before, and certainly the most attractive despite his somewhat shabby appearance so each tried eagerly to grab his attention.

His smile was a slight one, already he'd selected four that he knew he'd enjoy thoroughly. It was good to have a _real_ choice for once, instead of just picking the best of the worst. Perhaps, there was a way to get something he'd been missing particularly since Charlotte's demise.

"I'm looking for something specific,"

"Anything you wan', I sure we have it,"

"I want one who screams," his eyes never met Madam's, only those of the attractive women.

"Oh, you want screamer, sir. I have good screamer for you," Madam turned and grabbed the wrist of a tall, voluptuous woman with wavy dark brown hair that bounced in time with her breasts. Madam held her arm tightly, but the girl smiled in a most sensual way at Ryan, tilting her head down to appear shy but her large blue eyes stared intently up towards his.

"She vely good sir. She scream vely roud."

"Perfect," he whispered.

"She only twenty pound sir. I give you good deal. You chase dragon sir?"

Only now did Ryan look at Madam, "Only once," he responded, thinking back to his fifth year.

"You try again, sir, you rike, my O better than you had before. It make you rast ronger, make her scream rouder!"

"Very well, Madam," he said as he stepped forward to stroke the cheek of the woman he'd bought, he laughed with the next sentence "Have my pipe warmed for me."

The room was a dark red, the furniture lavish, the thick curtains drawn. Ryan sat in the leather chair smoking his opium as the whore strutted before him, removing her dresses and undoing her hair which was held high with pins. Their eyes did not leave each others. She sat upon the bed and removed her earrings before she lay down with her long legs dressed in black stockings bent up and spread. He watched her pleasure herself on the bed while he bit on the pipe; the room became heavy with smoke.

"Will you not come and please me?" she teased as she licked her own fingers.

"I'm not here to pleasure you..." he responded with a smirk, although the hardness in his groin was becoming somewhat painful, the opium hit helped to some degree.  
>She rolled onto her front, her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders and she crawled across the bed towards him, running her hands up his legs, across his thighs to his crotch where she began to unbuckle his trousers, "That's true sir, but if I please you <em>this<em> way," she said with a smile while admiring what she saw, "I won't be able to scream for you, will I?"

She was, of course quite right and also he knew that once this pleasant feeling the opiate was giving him wore off he would simply feel too relaxed to bother with anything else. He nodded and rose to his feet, letting her undress him.

Her wailing could be heard from downstairs. Madam tutted to herself; with sounds like that she was likely to scare off the clientele. The prostitutes who weren't being used covered their ears to the noise, she was screaming bloody murder and if she wasn't careful she'd attract the attention of the police again. The child whores cowered in huddles under the stairs... unsure what to make of the high pitched cries that came from above.

On all fours, hips up and face down in the sheets. Her long fingers gripped the metal frame of the bed as it shook from the force as Ryan took her roughly from behind. He was biting his lip, looking down at her flaying body as she screamed. The screams were genuine, she'd always been loud, it was her thing. Madam always put it down to her being petite in stature.

"Oh God... Yes..." he exclaimed through his clenched teeth as he grabbed her hips and pulled her towards him over and over again, "Ah, you filthy fucking whore... Oh God..."

He bent over her, pressing his face into her hair where it met her back, licked her skin, smelt her hair, nibbled on her shoulder... and every cry that came from her sounded exactly like Charlotte, the same intensity, although not the same volume... but the volume would soon be beneficial.

He held her tightly round the waist, pulling her close to him and he spotted that sensitive part of her throat, his eyes gleamed at seeing her pulse beat beneath the skin, matched by the pulse he felt encircling him. He bared his teeth, nipped the flesh on her throat and felt her tremble beneath him –from behind, he could easily pretend who it was.

His teeth sunk into her shoulder, subduing her entirely in his grasp. Now she howled in agony, but to an innocent bystander, it sounded no different. Blood pumped from the wound, falling down the girl's arms to her dark bed sheets and she fell into it, smothering herself in her own gore. All the while, Ryan laughed manically as his jaw clenched tighter on her collar bone.

At last, he cast her away from him, blood dripping from his devious smile as he flipped her onto her back, picked up a stray stocking she'd discarded from herself earlier and bound her wrists tightly to the bed.

Ryan moved his hair from his eyes to admire his prize, aroused ever further by the way the crimson from her shoulder spews across her chest as she writhes and kicks herself away from him.

"Good girl, sweetheart," he whispers to her, although she cannot hear him over her own wailing. A thin line of bloodied saliva fell from his lips to his bare chest and he wiped his face with the back of his arm before he lowered his body down to her.

The girl in her fear cried for help and kicked Ryan hard in the chest, but he simply laughed at her, knowing from having listened to her that no one was going to come to help her. He slapped her hard across the face, hard enough to leave an instant red mark across her cheek, "You little bitch!"

For a second, the girl was silent having been stunned by the force of the blow, which gave Ryan an ideal opportunity to descend down her body to a part he had a great desire to taste.

He mauled her, holding her legs down across his shoulders to prevent her from kicking him, "Oh sweetheart, you still taste so good..."

The whore screamed into the night, and no one came to her aid... Ryan took full advantage of this, beating her, choking her, slicing her skin, using her to fulfil every desire he had until the bed was covered in blood and her body littered in bite marks, some more vicious than others, some pink, some black, some missing flesh entirely in the most sensitive of areas...

When she finally fell silent it rang in his ears. Ryan quickly got up, still enjoying the pleasant light headedness that came from his opium hit earlier, he dressed after wiping her blood from himself and quickly climbed out of the window and descended to the street using the drainpipe.

All through this time, Ryan had not stopped smiling...


	11. It's All Coming Back To Me Now

With every passing day Ryan became shabbier in appearance. Like an addict he grew disinterested in his appearance, caring only for when his next 'hit' would come from.

It was becoming harder though to acquire the high. The prostitutes had started talking and spreading the word to other street workers, warning them to look out for a young man with expendable cash. His description was passed around, and the whores kept their watch. No one would help them, they couldn't go to the police, they had to defend themselves... but unfortunately for many, to turn down a man out of suspicion meant an empty stomach and so many could not afford to take that chance. So some decided instead to carry weapons to defend themselves, and Ryan found this out the hard way.

It was clear that the young girl had never brandished a knife before from the way that she held it, and Ryan laughed at how she'd threatened him after he'd taken a hefty chuck of flesh off her arm.

"Next time you pull a knife on someone, make sure someone teaches you how to use it first, sweetheart. Would you like _me_ to show you?" he asked sarcastically as she backed herself even further into the dead end of the alley they were in. He took his own knife out, "Dangerous things, knives..." he joked.

"Please... please, just leave me alone!"

He chuckled to himself and then leapt at her.

In her panic, she stabbed her knife forward and the blade embedded itself in Ryan's palm all the way to the hilt. He cried out in pain as blood gushed from his palm, but he steadied himself quickly, bit his lip to subdue his own scream and wretched the weapon from himself before laughing again, "So, we're playing dirty are we?" he looked at her with hunger in his eyes, and fear struck her very soul at the depraved look in his eyes, "That's good. Because I can play dirty too..."

The injury had not stopped him from completing his task and he was surprisingly more brutal than usual. He justified his actions by telling himself that she needed to be taught a lesson, so not only had he raped her but he'd sodomised her violently and when he'd finally finished with her, he noticed to his amazement that she was still breathing... "Good girl. Do you want some more?" he whispered in her ear and licked her throat.

She shunned her head away from him as best she could, but her legs were useless to her right now.

In the dead of night, with his victim silent from unconsciousness, he took her home and for three days had kept her bound to the bed tightly. She'd flitted in and out of consciousness and when she was awake he'd enjoyed torturing her –or in his mind, punishing her for fainting. He'd managed to keep her silent by gagging her. But eventually her body gave in and failed, she choked to death on her own vomit due to the gag in her mouth.

Ryan had disposed of the body that same evening, throwing it into the Thames from a deserted London Bridge and quickly going off in search of his next lover. He hoped that one day he might be able to find another who could hold on for days and days.

It was a muggy night, and Ryan covered his features with his hair. His hand was bandaged and healing, but he was having trouble clenching his fist entirely, little bitch had obviously cut a nerve or something.

He was on the prowl again, looking he hoped for a whore he'd had his eye on for some time. He remembered her from the previous month, that same one who'd spat at him, _Very well, sweetheart... _he thought, _If you want me so badly, then perhaps I should come and find you..._

He did not find the whore, but he did find someone... a girl, a well dressed girl. She was lost and he'd directed her to the railway station, but had very quickly stolen the opportunity to escort her there.

Unsuspecting victims... he'd developed a fondness for stray women after that, for they kicked and protested straight away, and their muscles were tighter, especially if they were virginal.

Ryan was awoken rudely the next morning by someone yelling outside his bedroom window, which did not help with the impending headache. He rubbed his face to try and wake himself, he needed to shave, and eat something, but first, just what the Hell was all that racket coming from outside?

It was a newspaper boy, "Read all about it! Extra! Extra!" he yelled excitedly, "Heir to Hargreaves fortune speaks out about murder of fiancé!"

Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to shake the dull ache behind his eyes and comprehend what exactly had just been said, "Uh... what? Hargreaves?" and then it hit him, "Hargreaves?" He leapt out of bed, the headache forgotten about. He pulled on some clothes hastily, not bothering to button up his shirt as he stepped outside and bought a paper.

The newspaper confirmed everything. It was not as he expected though.

Gerald Hargreaves had spoken out about something that had occurred the previous night, when the police had come to his house, the same house that Charlotte used to live in for he owned it now, James having been taken away to a hospital for the mentally infirm and explained to him what had happened to a certain young woman he'd been associating himself with.

Ryan rolled a cigarette and lit it as he scanned the page and small laugh came from his lips. The lost virgin last night, the one he'd cornered, cut, beaten, sodomised and then raped before he slit her throat, it would've been her wedding day in a week from now and she was betrothed to Gerald Hargreaves. Her photo had been given to the press, he recognised her instantly.

Within the text, there was not a single mention of Charlotte.

"You bastard!" He said in regards to Gerald, the word had simply come out of instinct, not out of any anger. He laughed again.

The paper said of how Mr Hargreaves had expressed deep sorrow at the devastating loss, she was the love of his life... _Oh yes? Only two months after the first fiancés death? Didn't take you long to find someone, did it?_ ... The man was crushed, and heartbroken at the news. It looked as if he too would need psychiatric treatment to recover from the shock, although Ryan was sure that this was simply a catalyst, the real cause for his treatment was because of what he'd seen when Charlotte had been killed.

Ryan put the paper down and played with his hair for a moment, a smirk on his face, "I've won, Gerald... Do you hear that, sweetheart?" his grey eyes looked upwards, "I think I've avenged you... Are you happy?" he gazed at the wedding ring on his finger in satisfaction.

The next whore he happened across was not particularly attractive, but the weather was less than desirable, his usual choice of victim would not be out on such an evening and he dare not venture into a brothel for fear of being recognised.

He managed to coax her into staying out; promising that what he had in mind wouldn't take long at all. She agreed, but only after spotting something she liked the look of an awful lot.

She sucked his fingers one by one just like the first whore he'd ever been with. He'd get this one on her knees too, get her to roll her tongue over him before he took her hard from behind and bashed her face against the wall, he was looking forward to that part a lot.

At last she latched her lips to his little finger and here she took her time, gently caressing the skin before sliding her mouth up to the tip.

Ryan's hand quickly reached for her hair and gripped it tightly, enough to make her gasp, "On your knees, NOW!"

She knelt down obediently and as he always did, Ryan placed his hand on her head as she began to unbuckle his trousers, he looked down to watch her and that's when he noticed something was wrong.

Charlotte's wedding ring was no longer on his finger. His eyes grew wide in shock and then very suddenly narrowed in anger at the girl before him.

Ryan used both hands to lift her by her throat, his teeth bared like an animal, he growled at her as he forced her to her feet and pushed her hard against the wall. She choked and gagged but barely opened her mouth as she tried to fight him off her.

Fury burned inside him, he knew she had it, he _knew_ she'd stolen it from him. How fucking dare she! Of all the things she could steal, she stole this from him! He'd get it back from her if it was the last thing he did, all libido had gone and all that remained was this intense, burning anger he felt in his chest that gripped his heart so tightly he feared it would burst!

Ryan's left hand grabbed her face and squeezed her cheeks together to try and open her mouth while the other hand pressed tightly to her neck to prevent her from swallowing.

His words dripped with venom and hatred just as saliva dripped from his lips, "_GIVE IT BACK!_"

Her eyes screamed the fear her voice could not but like a fool she kept her mouth tightly closed.

Ryan brought her forward to him then slammed her head against the wall, a hideous snap was heard, but neither could tell if it was from her head or his fist.

"Don't you fucking dare swallow it! _GIVE IT BACK NOW!_" He yelled again and this time she spat her ill-gotten prize out. It flew behind him and Ryan instantly released her and turned to scrabble blindly on his hands and knees through the muck and filthy rainwater to retrieve it, swearing, cursing and crying as he did.

"No! No, God no! Not that, anything but that, don't take _that_ from me too, please!" He threw discarded rubbish out of the way violently in his search, so desperate was he that he began to claw away at the bodies of dead rats that littered the way.

After what seemed like a long time, he finally saw it. The ring glinted on top of a pile of old newspapers surrounded by cigarette ends and he clawed towards it as if it contained the very beating of his heart. He took it in his hands; his body trembling, incomprehensible mutterings were spoken as he placed it to his lips to kiss it, caring little for the saliva and blood that covered it from the hooker's gums and the filth from the pavement.

The whore was too scared to move and even more perplexed by at his behaviour.

Ryan didn't face her, but knelt on his knees rocking back and forth with laboured breathing and strange whimpering sounds.

"Go!" he yelled but she didn't move, too petrified to make her feet run, "_Go! Get out of here!_"

At last the command struck her and she shot into the darkness, leaving the broken, crying man in the dark, on his own.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered like a kicked dog. His voice high and filled with sorrow, tears scorched his eyes, "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry sweetheart, please, please forgive me, forgive me. They weren't you, they were never you... Oh _GOD!_"

And with the tears came the final breaking of his heart and the recollection of a promise he'd made years ago that he would never do it again.

The golden band with single small diamond gave him no response, no comfort, no answer to his pleas. Of course, the ring itself could not forgive him, but its silence meant so much more to Ryan right now, who could feel a very real and severe tearing sensation pulling his chest apart.

He backed himself against the wall and fell to the ground, cupping the ring in his palms. He looked up to the Heavens and screamed and screamed... and screamed...


	12. We See What We Want To See

It was early morning. A dense fog had descended upon London and the stench from the Thames was particularly pungent, riddled with filth and disease.

No one wandered the streets this early in the day, but the sound of children laughing could already be heard from the grounds of the local orphanage. He was there, watching the youngsters on the other side of a wire fence, his fingers clung to the loops as he watched them. Few paid him much attention, only a couple looked up at the haggard man who seemed to support his ailing body against the fence to look at them. A little girl backed away, frightened to death simply by the red in his eyes caused by tears, she'd never before seen a man cry. She turned and lifted a babe into her arms only a few weeks old at best before she scurried away to other side of the playground.

He pondered the possibilities that had once been; would it have been better if he'd run away from his mother before he'd ever met the delightful little girl who given him marbles; should he have gone to the orphanage or workhouse when his mother had died as he'd planned to... these children seemed happy, malnourished perhaps, but happy...

Should he have taken her further away from Islington... away from prying eyes and devious minds... did it matter anymore?

The baby the little girl had picked up looked over her shoulder and spied him with large grey eyes and did not stop looking at him despite the movement and din of the other children surrounding it. He couldn't smile at the baby, he saw too much of himself in him: lonely, empty, without comfort. Would that child end up like him one day?

But the child's emotional state was temporary and Ryan could no longer relate to the little one, for once the girl put him down and shook a rattle in his face the baby smiled and gripped it tightly in play, bringing the toy to his mouth and sucking enthusiastically on the wood. Ryan could not feel that level of simple happiness from such simple pleasantries anymore.

He turned away, shaking the fence angrily at remembering his behaviour from last night, crawling on the ground, even after he'd found the ring he'd squirmed and twisted his body around on the cold floor, trying to rid himself of the horrific sense of dread that he felt.

It still dragged on him now.

He couldn't shift that feeling of being watched now, oh God, had she seen him? Had she been there as he'd pleasured himself over countless whores in her memory, did she know that it was her he was thinking of?

At first he tried to justify it to himself, lying, deceiving his own mind to convince himself of an argument he had no hope of winning, _They loved you, every one of them, that's why they were so eager, remember? The way they smiled and flirted, not just the hookers, but the pretty virgins too... They smiled, and waved, and hid their blushing cheeks from you..._ "No..." _They all wanted you; they all _loved_ you like she did... _"But they weren't her..."_ They struggled and screamed for you, just like her, because you like it, remember? _"No!" he stopped himself angrily, caring little for how he'd started talking to himself more frequently than he had in previous weeks, "They were flesh, basic flesh to be satisfied with... they weren't her!"

He then tried to justify it to Charlotte, or rather to the ring he'd held in his fingers, his voice stuttering through tears and the feeling of razor blades slicing his soul, "I missed you... It was all for you... I... I wanted them to be you... I always thought of you..." but the words bounced unheard from the lonely alley walls.

"Come take me!" he screamed in desperation up to God.

God, as always did not answer him or grant him his pleas. There was only silence, as if he had been forsaken and left to rot, both by God and His angels, and the only person whose forgiveness he hoped to hear.

He tried again now as he looked across the road to the old building ahead, sobbing painfully as he went, as though every word was another kick in the ribs, "I always thought of you... Every one of them, I always chose ones that looked like you, that sounded like you... They were... I missed you..." Once again though, no sign from the beyond presented itself and he cursed inwardly. He was stupid to think that this would justify his actions; was Charlotte supposed to think how romantic it was that he took his pleasure from filthy, diseased whores; was it meant to be beautifully poetic how he slit their throats in remembrance of her; was she supposed to think fondly of his endeavours to recapture her memory while he tortured and sodomised a girl for three days until she drowned on her own stomach acid?

It was no wonder she didn't answer him, why would she want to even look upon him from her high place in Heaven at God's right side. She would probably not even cast her eye in his direction and turn her ears against his pleas.

Ryan took the ring he held in his palm and held it tightly. He crossed the street, unable to stop thinking how morbid it was to have an orphanage on the same road as this hideous place he ventured towards now.

The wrought iron hung above the gateway, covered in lichen. The rainclouds gathered ever closer and few spits of rain began to fall as if the angels had begun to weep at his decision. Was this, his forgiveness at long last?

"Is this what you want?" he asked.

It was all he could think in his fear, that he could fix what he'd become, that he could find some repentance for his sins in psychiatry and cure this addiction. No priest could forgive the sins of filth and God clearly was in no mood to speak with him. Suicide was no answer either, for the simple fact that he was too scared to attempt it, he'd sat with the razor blade to his wrist for a good two hours last night in the hope of gaining the courage to slice his wrists and slowly bleed to death, but fear of his death had stopped him, what if there was a Hell? He would be going there for sure; no closer to her... and if there was nothing? That scared him even more; Charlotte still would not be there... and it would be as empty as this current existence was.

So perhaps science and medicine could help him, perhaps they could offer him hope, just as he'd said to her once before: he needed help. He bit his lip as tears spilled from his eyes, stinging them again but he brushed them away with his sleeve. His blurred gaze fell upon the golden band in his palm; they would take the ring from him, he knew that, they would ask him where he got it... even if he told them the truth they wouldn't believe him, there was no record of his marriage, her father had seen to that... they would say he'd stolen it and they would take it, possibly even sell it on or take it for their own.

It was better to deny her...

She would not wish to know him now anyway if she was here, she would shun away from him, and _he_ was not worthy to call her his wife. He would keep her name sacred, close to his heart, close to him forever and no one else; he would not sully her name with his actions.

For her sake, and her memory, he would release her... "For you sweetheart, I do this for you..." It was the hardest thing he'd had to do, but he tilted his hand, letting the band slip with the accumulating rainwater from his palm, and it fell to the pavement where it rolled and disappeared under a hedge by the wall. He let everything slip in that one moment from his hands... and crushed it into the Earth with his shoe.

How torn he was, lamenting on moments they'd never share and he resisted the urge to dive to the ground to retrieve it. No, it was hers and he didn't deserve it, didn't deserve her, not with such blood on his hands... he'd hoped she'd understand from her pristine place why he let it go.

If he were to be cured one day, he knew where to look for it... and if miracles ever came, then _she_ would return it to him herself.

His eyes were hard, angry and glossed in moisture, he held back one final laugh at the feeling of having lost everything, but as he stepped forward he looked up again to speak with her one last time, "You were my everything, sweetheart, and that's why I have to do this for you...Sleep well my angel... " the goodbye he'd not managed to say at her grave.

He stepped up bravely to the large, dark wooden doors and reached his hand to the bell, his fingers retracted once but he halted the sudden fear that fell upon him that demanded he turn around and run from here now.

He clasped the iron and pulled it, hearing a distant ring from inside the huge building that seemed even more intimidating than any church. There was no going back, and no change of heart.

A chilly wind swept by as he waited, it blew his dark, messy hair across his face by he didn't brush it away, he just stood patiently for someone to answer the door. He wiped away his tears one final time and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the scratches and claw marks upon his chest where his victims had tried to defend themselves. They would take him seriously, he would show them _exactly_ what he'd done to them and why he _needed_ their help.

The breeze shifted the ivy that covered a bronze plaque on the wall next to him, revealing the name of the building he'd condemned himself to... BOREHAMWOOD ASYLUM FOR THE INSANE.

A lone spectre wanders the corridors, rarely seen, more often heard. Pitifully painful cries are heard from the upstairs in the old London house.

Even after the house has been sold on years later, and developed and eventually turned into flats, the spectre walks from room to room, whimpering, sobbing and screaming with sorrow. She closes the curtains in a room that was once hers for it prevents her from looking upon her figure. Her nightie stained in red from the abdomen down, her wrists raw from struggles against thick fibres that kept her bound… she cries for the love she lost… where was Ryan? Where is he now? Why hadn't he come?

Alone, she wanders, her image flickering as insubstantially as candlelight, not daring to look out of the window to see the world go past for another day. Her room has changed, the curtains changed, the bed removed, the walls painted, but still she stays, in case he comes for her, where is he? She sobs endlessly into the night. Her hands descend to her belly smothered in gore, the material still dripping with blood today despite how she stopped bleeding so long ago, to the place where once another heart beat aside from her own… now there is no beating heart, no happy kick to feel, the organ empty and deprived… she cries out with a pain only the loneliest of souls can possibly feel, those who can hear it shudder as it resonates through the very walls.

_Where's Ryan? Where is he?_ Her pale hands tremble over the empty space where the other heart once beat... The spectre cries out again... For he is not there, and neither is her baby... _Where's my baby? _She cries, _Where's Ryan? WHERE'S RYAN?_

_The End...  
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><p><em><strong>AN: And fade to black... Roll credits... Plays Meatloaf's 'All Coming Back To me Now'**_

_**Thank you to everyone for your continued support and encouragement during the emotional turmoil it was to finally put this online.**_  
><em><strong>Had to have Meatloaf at the end as this is one of the finest love songs of all time and I always envisioned the ending like this...<strong>_

_**And couldn't end it without this final goodbye to Ryan after almost two long years by my side and in my mind... I'll miss you so much... :(**_

_**I suggest everyone go now and listen to We Are The Fallen - 'Sleep Well, My Angel' now and weep... because that's what I'm doing...**  
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